


Your Name Is Tattooed On My Heart

by mcpofife



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 86,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcpofife/pseuds/mcpofife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is ready to find the love of his life, but first he has to stop falling for the punk rocker next door.</p><p>Inspired by this tweet:</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/mcpofife/library/"></a><br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> my first 1D fic... so, hi :)

Louis was six and he liked going to school and riding the bus and carrying his Spiderman lunchbox with its matching thermos. He liked that his mum packed him sandwiches with no crusts and apple slices and pudding. So he was pretty good when it came to getting ready in the morning, and his mum only had to chase him around the house a little bit before he got dressed and ate his porridge. 

He sat on the veranda to strap on his velcro trainers and that’s when it happened: a lorry pulled into the driveway next door. His eyes went big at the sight. Louis loved lorries. He knew all the different types in the world: the ones that carried food, the ones that carried rubbish, or the very impressive ones that carried cars. Those were his favourite. 

Due to his extensive knowledge on the subject, he knew immediately that the one next door was a removal lorry. He was not surprised at all when men emerged from it and opened up the back and he could see heaps of boxes and furniture inside. He threw his head back to yell for his mum and hit his head on her leg, not realising she was standing behind him. She yelped a bit and said, “Come on, then.” 

As they walked to the stop sign at the end of the street where his bus would soon arrive, he pointed to the lorry and said, “Mum, whose stuff is that?” 

“Looks like the Harpers finally sold their house,” his mum said. “We’re going to have new neighbours.” 

His eyes widened and something had to be done, so he began to hop on one foot. “Who are they?” 

“I’m not sure. A family, I reckon, with all those rooms,” she said. 

“When will they get here? Can I meet them? Will they be here when I get back from school?” he asked, switching to the other foot. 

“I’m not sure, dear,” she said. He could see the bus coming, so he stopped hopping and let his mum hug him and hand him his lunchbox and rucksack. “Be a good boy,” she told him, like she did every day. 

He got on the bus and ran to the very back, kneeled backwards on his seat even though that’s against the rules, because he wanted to watch the lorry until he couldn’t anymore. 

* 

Louis forgot about his new neighbours once he got to school, because there was a bug in the classroom and everyone was screaming their heads off like maybe they’d all be killed by a dung beetle and because they played kickball at recess and kickball was his favourite and because his best friend James got a splinter in his finger and the teacher had to pick it out with a safety pin. This was why Louis quite liked school: he was a big fan of excitement. 

Only on the bus on the way home did he remember the removal lorry. His mind ran wild thinking what sort of folks his new neighbours might be. Would they be an old couple like the Harpers, whose children were all grown up and didn’t like it when he trampled the flowers in their garden? He’d liked the Harpers, but they weren’t very exciting. Maybe the new neighbours would have a dog? The possibilities were endless. 

He was so excited to get off the bus that he forgot his lunch box and rucksack, and hopped on one foot for good luck all the way down the street. To his disappointment, the removal lorry was gone. He’d hoped to climb inside of it or at least get to look at it up close. The windows of the house were open and he could see that there were things inside of it that weren’t there before, but no people were in sight. In the middle of their front garden was a lone cardboard box. 

The box was open, the flaps on top sticking straight up. He approached it, wanting a peek at its contents. Just as he got near it, a creature popped out, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was just the top of a creature, something with smooth light-brown fur, perhaps a dog! He got quite happy at that prospect and grabbed one of the box’s flaps to topple it over. It took a grand effort, one that landed him on his bottom in the grass, and the creature tumbled out of the box with a small cry. 

It wasn’t a dog at all, but a boy. He looked younger than Louis, maybe even young enough to still go to nursery school. They lay on the grass staring at each other, and Louis reached out his hand. “Hullo,” he said. “I’m Lou.” 

“Hi,” said the boy, and held Louis’ hand. “I’m Harry Edward Styles.” 

“Do you go to nursery?” asked Louis. 

“Yes,” said Harry. 

“I go to primary,” Louis said proudly. “I’m six.” 

“I’m this many,” said Harry, holding up four of his fingers. 

“Come on,” said Louis, trying to get up, but Harry’s weight held him down. “Come on,” he urged, tugging at Harry’s hand. “You made me fall down, but that’s okay. Come have tea.” 

“I don’t like tea,” said Harry, but went along anyway, across the garden and up to the Tomlinson’s front door. Louis checked the door, and finding it had been left open for him, led Harry inside to the kitchen. 

“Everyone likes tea,” Louis told him, directing Harry into a chair at the table. “Mum!” he shouted. “Mum, come give me and Harry tea!” 

His mother came into the kitchen a minute later and smiled at the boys. “Hi, Harry.” 

“Hi,” Harry said. 

“Have your parents had tea yet?” she asked, putting on a kettle. 

“I dunno,” said Harry. 

“Harry hasn’t got parents. I found him in a box,” Louis told her. 

“Nuh-uh!” Harry said, affronted. 

“Yes!” Louis retorted, making an awful face to show what he thought of liars. 

“Of course Harry has parents,” said his mum, and he opened his mouth to argue, but she went on. “Harry and his parents and sister moved into the house next door.” 

Louis kept quiet at that. He didn’t like being wrong. 

“Harry, do you like sugar cookies?” she asked. 

“Yes!” said Harry, and a smile lit up his face and caused a deep dimple to appear in his cheek. 

Louis liked it, and poked it with his finger. Harry ducked away a bit shyly and turned his big green eyes toward Louis while he smiled, and Louis liked that, too. He smiled his best smile back at Harry. 

“Here you are,” said his mum, putting a plate of four biscuits between them at the table. “How do you like your tea, Harry?” 

“I don’t like…” Harry started, but seeing Louis’ expression darken, stopped. 

“He likes it same as me,” said Louis. 

His mum brought them two little cups of milky tea and Louis gulped his greedily. Harry put his nose into his cup and stared down at the drink passionlessly. “I don’t like you,” he whispered to it. 

“Mum,” Louis said, once he’d finished his tea. “Can I have milk now?” 

His mum took his cup and brought it back with milk, and when she turned around, he nudged it toward Harry. “Trade,” he said. 

Louis got two cups of tea and Harry got milk, and they ate two biscuits each as Louis told Harry about the dung beetle and kickball and James’ splinter, and Harry listened avidly. Then they went out into the garden again to the cardboard box, which ended up not being a cardboard box at all, but a spaceship, as Harry explained. They traveled to Jupiter and survived three separate alien attacks, but then Harry’s mum came and asked if he wanted to see his new room. 

Harry didn’t want to see his new room because he thought there would soon be another alien attack and didn’t want to miss it, but as was all too often the case with grownups, it hadn’t really been a question. She introduced herself to Louis and invited him inside, too, and the boys raced up the stairs and into Harry’s room. 

He had bunk beds and glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and a lamp shaped like a rocketship, and Louis was green with envy. There was a big toy box in the corner and they rooted through it carelessly, tossing toys all over the floor as they went along, chattering about which ones were best and which ones Louis had too. Harry’s mum wasn’t happy when she saw the mess they’d made, and Louis didn’t mind because no one was ever happy with the messes he made, but Harry went straight to cleaning up without even being asked. Louis sat on the rug and watched and told him about the remote control car that he’d seen on telly and wanted for his birthday. 

Harry’s sister’s room was across the corridor, but the door was closed, so Louis didn’t meet her. Louis’ mum came to fetch him an hour later, and he whined and argued and Harry did too, and Harry’s mum looked embarrassed by his behaviour and said, “He’s normally never like this.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” Louis’ mum said dryly as she picked up his body, gone limp in protest, and carried him out of the house. 

“Bye! Bye, Harry Edward Styles!” Louis called to the boy standing at the top of the stair watching him get stolen away. 

“You can see him tomorrow after school,” his mum said for the dozenth time, but tomorrow was a long time from now and Louis didn’t care about then. 

“Bye, Lou!” Harry waved back sadly, and Harry’s mum crouched to comfort him as Louis’ mum closed the front door behind them. 

* 

From that day on, Harry was Louis’ best friend at home. Sometimes on weekends, his best friend at school, James, would come over to play, and then they were all three best friends at home. Louis didn’t mind to share, because no matter how good James was at football or what great toys he brought with him, Harry always liked Louis best. 

As the months passed, Louis began to spend more and more time at the Styles’ home instead of his own. He hadn’t realised, until he’d had Harry’s parents to compare, how much his own parents fought. His mum and dad were always angry with each other, yelling at each other after he’d been tucked into bed and they thought he wouldn’t hear. 

Louis turned seven and Harry turned five and they were excited for summer holiday so they could play together all day long, and for the next school term when Harry would start primary school and they could ride the bus together, but one day at supper, all of those plans came crashing down. Louis’ parents told him that they wouldn’t be living together anymore, that he and his mum would be going to live with his grandparents in Doncaster and his dad would live in a flat, and no one would live in their house anymore because they were going to sell it. 

He cried and begged and yelled, and his parents looked very sad, but they didn’t change their minds. When he told Harry the news, Harry cried too, and they both cried when the removal men came, and were too sad to really enjoy it when they were let to sit in the cab of the lorry and honk the horn. 

His mum kept saying they could visit, but Louis knew it was a lie. Doncaster was far away. He would never see any of his friends from school. He would never hop down the street to the stop sign to wait for his bus. He wouldn’t come home and drink his tea and ask for milk to give to Harry, and drink Harry’s tea and eat two biscuits each and play Power Rangers and sleep in Harry’s bunk beds. 

His dad gave him a big hug and promised he would see him next weekend, and Harry’s parents and even his sister gave him hugs too and looked like they would miss him, and then he and Harry clung to each other desperately until Louis’ mum picked up his body, gone limp in protest, and put him in the backseat of her car. Louis kneeled up on the seat, even though he wasn’t supposed to, and waved and waved and waved until the car went around a corner and he knew he would never see Harry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 will skip forward, Louis will be 20 and Harry will be 18.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis awoke with a note taped to his forehead. This was not the first time. It said: 

**TAKE THE RUBBISH OUT LOU I MEAN IT!!!!**

Louis crumbled it up and threw it across his room. It landed on a pile of dirty laundry, which wasn’t surprising, considering the entire floor was littered with piles of clean or dirty clothes. 

He would’ve known who wrote the note even if he hadn’t gotten countless similar ones before, ordering him to take out the rubbish or wash his dishes or any of the things Liam always tried to get him to do that Louis never did until he was threatened with dismemberment. He had two great flatmates: Niall, the laid-back Irishman, and Liam, the one who made sure they paid rent on time and split the housework fairly. 

It was absolutely his turn to take out the rubbish and Louis absolutely didn’t feel like it. He trudged to the bathroom and took a quick shower, threw on clothes, and sat at the kitchen table to scarf down some cornflakes before he had to leave for university. 

Niall came in and caught him putting his dirty bowl in the sink. “You better clean that.” 

“I was,” Louis lied, turning on the tap to rinse it quickly, then set it in on the drying rack. 

“Empty the bin,” Niall said. “Liam’s gonna lose it if you leave it another day.” 

“I’ll do it when I get back,” Louis said, slipping his messenger bag over his shoulder. 

“Do it now, Lou,” Niall nagged. “It’ll take two minutes.” 

Louis sighed but acquiesced, taking the overflowing bag of rubbish out of the bin and replacing it with a new one. “Walk me to the skip?” he pleaded, making a sad face that was more ridiculous than anything but usually worked. 

Niall sighed and grabbed his rucksack, locking the door behind them. When he’d moved to London to attend university two years ago, Louis had met Niall and Liam at the tea shop where they all worked, and before long they were renting a modest two-bedroom flat together. Niall technically shared Liam’s room, but he usually slept on the sofa. Louis paid a bit more in rent, and it’s not that he would have minded sharing a room; it was that no one wanted to share with him. Louis was a slob, and his room was at best a tip and at worst a biohazard. 

They went ‘round the back of the building so Louis could toss the rubbish, and on their way back they saw a removal lorry pulling into the car park. 

“New neighbour,” Niall said as they headed down the street to the nearest bus stand. “I saw him the other day, checking out the flat next to ours.” 

“How old?” Louis asked. 

“Our age,” Niall said. 

“What’s he look like?” Louis wasn’t strictly gay but close enough, and had broken up with his last boyfriend ten weeks ago. Since then, he’d been playing the field and trying to convince himself it was fun, but the truth was that he hated being single. 

“Elvis, kind of,” Niall shrugged. 

“Fat Elvis or fit Elvis?” Louis said. 

“Not fat,” Niall said, and Louis smirked. Niall was straight, and totally comfortable with having queer flatmates, but he could be silly about little things, like referring to another guy as fit. 

“So fit Elvis, then?” Louis persisted, because he was Louis and he liked to poke. “Is he hot? If you were into guys, would you bang him?” 

“Geez, Lou,” Niall laughed, shaking his head ruefully. 

“Okay, would I bang him?” Louis relented, only because he really wanted to know. 

“Like your standards are so high,” Niall teased. 

“They are, too!” Louis cried, scandalised. “You have to give me that much, Nialler. I don’t settle when it comes to looks.” 

“But you’ll date a guy who’s dumb as rocks for four months,” Niall said. 

“Was it four months?” Louis said. “He was nice. Shut up.” 

“You mean he gave good head,” Niall said. 

“I liked him,” Louis insisted. Okay, so maybe his last boyfriend hadn’t been a genius, but he’d been spontaneous and confident and good in bed, and Louis valued those qualities. And yeah, he gave good head. “Anyway, those days are over.” 

Niall scoffed at that, but Louis said, “I mean it!” 

Louis was young, but he was made for long-term relationships. He’d dated the same girl for the last two years of secondary school, and the same boy all through college, but ever since coming to London, he hadn’t been able to find the right guy to settle down. Six months here, four months there; it wasn’t what he preferred. 

He dreamed of finding that one perfect guy to be with forever, to adopt children and have a dog and a life together. He pictured someone sweet and kind and fun, someone domestic, who knew how to cook because Louis was crap at it, and didn’t mind picking up after him because Louis didn’t want their future children to live in filth. If he was going to find that guy, he’d have to stop settling for anything less, no matter how lonely he got sometimes. 

“So, would I bang him or not?” he said. “Describe him. Tall, short, skinny, fat?” 

“I don’t know; I saw him for about two seconds,” Niall said, exasperated. “Average height, skinny, tan, Elvis hair.” 

“So just the hair looks like Elvis, or the face?” 

“Why don’t you just look at him yourself when you get home, f’Chris’sake!” Niall said, and Louis could tell he was fed up, so he let it go. 

* 

Louis returned from a long day of university and work with heavy feet, tired but knowing he had a paper he couldn’t put off writing any longer because it was due the next day. He groaned when he realised he’d forgotten his key. He banged on the door, praying Liam was home. 

The door next to his opened instead, and the guy with Elvis hair poked his head out. He was definitely fit, and Louis’ weariness faded instantly. “Hi.” 

“Hi, sorry, I thought you were someone else,” Elvis hair said. 

“I’m locked out,” Louis said, banging again. 

“Oh, you live there?” the guy said, opening his door more and stepping forward to hold out his hand. “I’m Zayn.” 

“Louis,” he said, smiling and shaking the proffered hand firmly. 

“If you need a place to chill until your roommate gets home...?” Zayn started, and Louis was about to accept when the door finally opened and there stood Liam, dripping wet and wearing a towel. 

Zayn’s eyes went wide and Louis had to stop his from rolling. Liam’s Abs of Death strike again. 

“Liam, this is our new neighbour, Zayn. Zayn, this is my roommate, Liam,” Louis said, when neither made a move to introduce themselves. 

“Sorry about…” Liam said, blushing, gesturing vaguely at his towel. “I’m not usually…” 

“Naked?” Louis supplied helpfully. 

Liam glared at him and then looked back at Zayn bashfully. “Nice to meet you, sorry.” 

“Yeah, no, it’s okay,” Zayn said, smiling as though utterly charmed. 

Louis did roll his eyes now, and pushed past Liam to get inside the flat. If Liam was Zayn’s type, then Louis certainly wasn’t. As much as he loved his flatmate, they were opposites in almost every way. Louis wasn’t bothered; sure, Zayn was fit, but he wasn’t just going for looks anymore. Besides, Liam hadn’t had a boyfriend in twice as long as Louis, and he definitely needed to get laid. 

* 

Zayn ended up having a great personality. He was smart and fun and encouraged Louis’ bad behaviour, and they clicked as friends. As far as a relationship went, he wasn’t what Louis was looking for; too moody and serious, but all the things that made him wrong for Louis made him right for Liam. The only thing about him Louis disliked was that Zayn blasted punk music at all hours of the night. If he needed to revise, he could go in his room and close the door and it was fine, but if he was watching television, it was annoying. _The Notebook_ didn’t work with Dead Kennedys as a soundtrack. 

He spent the first week trying to ignore it, not wanting to be one of _those_ neighbours, but he eventually reached his breaking point. He had passive-aggressively turned the volume all the way up on the television, hoping Zayn could hear it next door and that their annoyance was mutual. The episode of _Million Pound Drop_ wasn’t loud enough, though. He was considering putting on an action flick, something with a lot of explosions, when the front door opened and Liam and Zayn entered carrying bags of take-away. 

“You can hear the telly from the corridor,” Liam told him. 

“Well, the music…” Louis said, looking at Zayn. “I think you left your music on.” 

“That’s not me, that’s my flatmate,” Zayn said. “Damn, I had no idea the walls were so thin. I’ll go tell him to turn it down. I’m so sorry. Has it been like this the whole time?” 

“Yes,” Louis said bitterly, and at Liam’s warning look, added, “But you didn’t know, so… but yeah, if you could tell him to turn it down, that would be great.” 

“Be right back,” Zayn said, and grabbed a box out of the take-away bags before he went. 

A few minutes later, the music was no longer audible and Zayn reported, “He said sorry; he didn’t know. He’ll use headphones from now on.” 

“Thanks,” Louis said, happily turning the television volume down about thirty notches. 

Liam and Zayn had bought enough Chinese for everyone, a box left in the fridge for Niall to eat when he got home from the pub, and the three of them watched the show. Afterward, Louis watched _The Bachelor_ and Zayn and Liam disappeared into Liam’s bedroom. Louis sighed and felt a bit lonely, thought about ringing his ex- just to have some company, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t going to do that type of thing anymore and stayed put on the sofa, stuffing his face with reheated egg rolls. 

* 

Another week passed. Louis had officially been single for three months. He brooded over how awful that was as he got ready that morning, locked his flat, and thundered down the stairs. He was so distracted by self-pity that he tripped over someone crouched in the doorway of the building. 

“Shit, sorry,” Louis said, managing to catch himself before he fell. At first he couldn’t tell the person’s gender, all he saw was a mop of dark brown curls, but then the curls tipped back and it was a guy. An extraordinarily beautiful guy rooting through a rucksack, wearing a raggedy, sleeveless Black Flag t-shirt and ripped jeans and a pair of dingy Converse high-tops that looked like they were about to disintegrate. His skin was sprinkled with prison-quality tattoos and his jeans rode so low on his hips that the top of his bumcrack showed, and normally all of the above would have been a huge turn-off for Louis, but somehow it was incredibly hot. He usually thought punk rockers looked stinky, but he bet this one smelled delicious. He bet he tasted delicious. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“No worries,” the punk replied in a slow, deep voice that made Louis gulp. His lean and sculpted body, huge green eyes, and lush pink lips didn’t help matters either. 

Louis thought of his own striped t-shirt and the rolled cuffs of his trousers and his TOMS, and knew he didn’t stand a chance. Which was just as well, because they obviously had nothing in common, and this guy definitely didn’t want to cook or clean or raise babies; this guy wanted to rock and roll and raise hell. 

“Sorry,” Louis said again, edging past him. He headed toward his bus stand, looking over his shoulder when he heard footsteps following him. It was the punk. He hoped he wasn’t about to get mugged. 

“Hey, uh, do you have a light?” the guy said. 

“Nope, sorry. I don’t smoke,” Louis said. 

He looked kind of amused by that, bit his lip, and Louis looked away. 

“So you live in that building?” he said, and stopped walking when Louis did. 

“I’m waiting for the bus,” Louis said instead of answering. He was pretty sure it was a bad idea to tell random punks where you lived, unless you were looking to get robbed. 

“Me too,” he said. 

“Oh,” said Louis. 

After a somewhat awkward pause, the guy said, “I live there.” 

“Oh- uh?” Louis said, startled. It was weird to imagine him living anywhere. And then it clicked. “Oh, hey, are you Zayn’s roommate?” 

He looked startled as well, and said, “Yeah?” 

Louis relaxed and smiled. Zayn would’ve mentioned if his flatmate was a creep. “I live next door to you. I’m Louis.” 

He smiled back, and Louis nearly keeled over at the majestic goddamn beauty of it all. He had outrageously sexy _dimples_ , and perfect teeth, and those eyes and that curly hair and arghhhh. The bus pulled up and Louis contemplated flinging himself under it because he didn’t want to live on this planet anymore where boys this hot existed when he knew that they could never be more than a meaningless hook-up. 

And yeah, Louis was pretty sure they could at least be that, because regardless of his preppy attire, he was definitely getting interested vibes from this guy. 

“I’m Harry,” he said, following Louis onto the bus and sliding onto the seat next to him. 

“Harry,” Louis echoed, and this close, he could smell him, and he smelled like soap and some sort of incredibly alluring cologne. “I like that name.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows and grinned, like he thought Louis was using a chat-up line on him, but Louis laughed and explained, “When I was little, I had a friend named Harry.” 

“Really?” 

“And he had big green eyes, just like yours,” Louis continued. 

“Did he?” 

“But he didn’t have these,” Louis said, unable to resist tweaking an especially tempting curl. He was such a sucker for curls, and Harry’s were _perfect_. 

“I had a friend name Louis.” Harry’s eyes were sparkling; the guy was clearly a huge flirt. 

“And did he have blue eyes like mine?” Louis couldn’t help but ask. There was no harm in a little flirting, after all. 

“He did, actually,” Harry said, then his grin twisted wryly. “At least, I think he did? I was really young. I remember him having blue eyes, but… it’s hard to rely on memories from when you’re that young.” 

Louis was surprised; he’d been sure Harry was making it up to play along. “So you really had a friend named Louis? Because mine was real, too.” 

“It’s a sign,” Harry said, and now Louis knew he was being silly. 

Harry laughed, and Louis laughed, too. He liked silly. 

* 

The next day, Louis sat on his bed to do coursework, so he could look out the window like a creeper and watch for Harry to come home. When he saw the tall figure approach, he ran to the kitchen, grabbed the mostly-empty bag out of the bin, and rushed down the stairs so that he’d be going out the door just as Harry was going in. 

“Hi,” Harry said, and there were those dimples again, and he held the door open for Louis like a fucking _gentleman_. 

“Here,” said Harry, trying to take the bag off him. 

“I got it,” Louis demurred. “Um, but if you have a minute… I hate going to the skip alone.” 

Harry looked at him quizzically but accompanied him. When they got to the back of the building, Harry reached for the bag again and this time Louis let him take it. He didn’t like getting near the skip; it was gross and he always feared a rat would pop out. Also, it gave him an opportunity to discreetly ogle Harry. He had something in his hair, Louis noticed, some sort of debris caught in those unruly curls. 

He didn’t mention it, not wanting to embarrass Harry, but walked behind him up the stairs so he could get a better look. He was surprised to find that they were little pink flowers. He tucked his lips, trying not to laugh. Then he checked out Harry’s arse and all the lightly-tanned skin exposed by the tears in his clothing. 

When they were at their respective doors, Louis could feel Harry looking at him. He glanced up and returned the smile he received. “Alright,” Harry nodded. 

“Later,” Louis nodded back. 

They went into their separate flats and closed their separate doors and Louis cursed under his breath because he absolutely wanted to sleep with that tall, gorgeous, charming punk rocker and he knew it was the worst idea in the world. He was supposed to be searching for his true love; not sleeping with hot guys who only wanted one thing. 

He knew that, and he was determined to stay strong, but it didn’t mean that he had to _like_ it. 

* 

Louis didn’t run into Harry for three days, despite his best efforts. On the fourth, he was in the back of the bus, folded like a pretzel with his Sociology notes balanced across his thighs, when he spotted Harry sitting near the front. He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten on, or the name of the little yellow blossoms tucked into his curls. He wasn’t sure if Harry had seen him and chosen not to approach, or if he hadn’t noticed Louis on the back corner bench. 

He hesitated, debating if moving to sit by Harry would send the wrong message. The _I want to fuck you_ message. It was torture, trying to run into Harry and yet knowing he shouldn’t try to run into Harry. Louis was not built to resist temptation. Louis was built to grab temptation with both hands and suck the hell out of its dick. 

His stop was coming up soon, he rationalised, as he slipped his notes into his messenger bag and made his way to the front of the bus. He pretended not to notice Harry and held onto the pole closest to the door. 

“Hey,” he heard, and forced himself not to react. 

“Hey,” came again, and he turned and feigned shock when Harry stepped up behind him. 

“Oh hey, didn’t see you get on,” he said. 

Harry was in another tattered sleeveless band t-shirt and ripped black jeans, one especially large gash haphazardly mended with safety pins, and the same worn Converse. His bedhead was commendable and his smile just as devastating as Louis remembered. 

“On your way home?” Harry said. 

Louis nodded. 

“Me too,” said Harry. 

Louis didn’t know how to respond to such an obvious statement without resorting to sarcasm, so instead he said, “Y’ever seen a one-legged pigeon?” 

Harry hadn’t, so Louis got out his phone to display the photo he’d taken of the unfortunate bird that’d been in front of the tea shop that afternoon. Harry pulled out his own phone to show Louis a photo he’d taken of a dog with a funny face. 

“You like dogs?” Louis asked. 

“Love ‘em. I want to get one, but Zayn says it’s bad enough sharing a one-bedroom flat with me, he’s not putting up with a pet,” Harry said. 

“I’d like to get one too, someday,” Louis said almost bashfully, even though loads of people liked dogs and it didn’t mean a thing; there was no reason for him to feel like they had something remarkable in common. 

Harry eyes lit up, though, and he looked charmed. They discussed their favourite breeds and the pros and cons of big dogs versus little ones, and Louis couldn’t help but lean into Harry’s space and bask in Harry’s attention, and enjoy the way conversation flowed so easily between them. 

The ride home seemed very short that day, and too soon they were disembarking the bus and walking toward their building in amicable silence. An invitation to dinner was fighting to get out of Louis’ mouth and he held his lips tight to restrain it. He would not, he _would not_ fall into bed with this guy. Someone like Louis would definitely only be a piece of arse to Harry. Harry belonged with someone with just as many tattoos, maybe a mohawk and some piercings, not a guy in pastel skinny jeans. 

As they were unlocking their front doors, Harry said, “You hungry?” 

“I was gonna order pizza,” Louis said, and he didn’t notice the hopeful look in Harry’s eyes until it disappeared, and then he couldn’t help but say, “If you want..?” 

“Sure,” Harry smiled, and Louis clutched his doorknob and damned the whole world. “I have some beer in the fridge; I can grab it?” 

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” Louis said. 

He went inside his flat and didn’t straighten up the living room except to throw Niall’s pillow and blanket in the corner, and went ahead and ordered a pizza with the toppings he liked, tuned the television to _The Great British Bake-Off_ , and sat in the middle of the sofa because it had the best view, because _fuck_ Harry for being so irresistible. 

But then Harry brought over a twelve-pack of Louis’ favourite beer, and was excited about the show and said he never missed it, and sat pressed up to Louis on the sofa like he’d never heard of personal space, and then the pizza arrived and he said it was delicious. They talked over the entire episode. Harry usually agreed with Louis, and he always laughed at Louis’ jokes. He had a fantastic laugh; there was something about making Harry laugh that made Louis feel like he’d accomplished something wonderful. 

There was maybe some flirting, maybe some poking of sides and digging of elbows, but it was all innocent fun. That is, until Louis got tipsy off four measly beers and said it was his favourite brand, and Harry said it was his favourite brand too and that it was another sign, and the next thing Louis knew, they were kissing. 

“You know, you’re really pretty,” he murmured when Harry pulled away with a lazy smile. 

“If anyone’s pretty…” Harry said, smoothing Louis’ fringe into place. 

They kissed again, sweet and slow, and Louis was doubly struck by the electricity and the tenderness. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected of a kiss from Harry. He found himself whispering, “I want…” 

Harry hummed enquiringly and placed a soft kiss on Louis’ neck. 

Louis’ eyes flew open and he pushed him away gently. “Wait. We can’t.” 

“Why not?” Harry asked, sounding amused by Louis’ weak protests, and pulled him into another kiss. 

Louis groaned and let himself fall into it, but when they broke apart for air, he tried again. “Really, no. I shouldn’t.” 

“Why?” Harry said quietly, his voice the most persuasive argument Louis had ever heard. 

All his good reasons about soulmates and babies flew out of his head, and what was left was how Harry’s lips were as lush as they looked and how he wanted to feel them everywhere. 

Then the front door swung open and Niall walked in and Louis could’ve jumped up and hugged him. In fact, he did, hoping he didn’t look as flustered as he felt as he flung himself at him and cried, “Niall, you’re home!” 

“Finally. What’s for dinner?” Niall said, patting Louis’ back with one hand while he threw his rucksack on the floor with the other. He noticed Harry and his eyebrows rose. “Hey.” 

“Harry, this is Niall. Harry is Zayn’s roommate,” Louis explained. 

“Oh cool, yeah, he’s mentioned you. You share a one bedroom, right?” Niall said. 

Harry took a moment to respond, as if he needed time to process the scene before him. “Yeah, it kind of sucks, but you know.” 

“Trust me, I feel ya,” Niall said, making his way into the living room with Louis trailing him. “We’re three of us in this two bedroom; four if you count Zayn here all the time nowadays.” 

“So you… live here,” Harry said. 

“You greedy bastard, didn’t even save me a slice?” Niall said when he found the pizza box empty. 

Louis made a face at him and Niall made to grab him. Louis laughed, skittering out of reach, and glanced at Harry. Harry wasn’t laughing, though; he was watching the two of them and looking a bit queasy. 

“Whose beer is this?” Niall asked. 

“Help yourself,” Harry said, standing and avoiding eye contact. “I should go.” 

“Really? I thought we could play FIFA or something… ” Louis enjoyed spending time with Harry, and with Niall here, it would be easier to keep his libido in check. 

“Yeah, stick around. Tommo here gets real competitive. We can kick his arse and then mock him when he cries,” Niall said, plopping onto the sofa and cracking open a beer. 

Louis kicked at him before looking at Harry hopefully, but Harry mumbled, “Maybe another time,” and made a hasty exit. 

“Idiot!” Louis smacked Niall, wanting someone to blame for the abrupt turn of events. 

“Wha’d I do?” Niall put up an arm to block Louis’ assault and burped loudly. “We got any crisps? I’m starved.” 

“You’re not keeping these.” Louis picked up the box of beer. 

“Hey!” Niall objected. “He said help meself, and I had a shit day.” 

“Here,” Louis said, handing him a can. “There’s leftover chicken strips in the fridge. Think it’s Zayn’s, though.” 

“Get it for me?” Niall said. 

“Get it yourself,” Louis said, not bothering to put on shoes to go out into the corridor and knock on Harry’s door. He smiled tentatively when it opened, but Harry’s gaze flickered quickly from his face to the box in his arms before settling on the floor. 

Louis held out the box. “Um, here. You didn’t have to leave it.” 

Harry shrugged one shoulder, still not looking up, and said, “I know.” 

Louis pushed it forward, bumping Harry’s chest slightly, until he took it, finally meeting his eyes. “Hey,” Louis said. “Sorry about… Just a smidge tipsy, yeah? Don’t judge me; I barely ate today besides that pizza.” 

Harry smiled a little, just a tuck of his lips, and Louis continued, encouraged. “We’re cool? I’m not losing my _Great British Bake-Off_ viewing buddy?” 

“I’m just... embarrassed,” Harry said. “I should be the one apologising.” 

“Aw, come on, mate, none of that. Nothing happened. We’re a bit in our cups and had us a little smooch. You won’t hold it against me, will you? Promise it won’t happen again?” Louis made beseeching puppy eyes at him. He knew he was a twat for running hot-and-cold on Harry, kissing and rejecting him in quick succession, and he hoped it hadn’t ruined their burgeoning friendship. 

Harry laughed and looked down again, nodding. “Alright.” 

“Okay? So how about some FIFA?” Louis said. 

Harry’s eyes darted toward Louis’ door. “Um, not tonight. Little weird, yeah?” 

“Right,” Louis said. He knew it was better to let it drop, but he really didn’t want to say goodnight to Harry just yet. “Well, I was about to pop down to Tesco for some crisps for that dickhead in there. Do you need anything?” 

“What, you mean…?” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed questioningly. 

“No, like…” Louis said, tilting his head to indicate he wanted Harry to come along. 

“Oh,” Harry said, and grinned teasingly. “Let me guess, you hate going to Tesco alone?” 

Louis grinned back. “Loathe it.” 

“Okay.” Harry jostled the box in his arms. “Let me put this up.” 

Louis peered in the open door as Harry put the beer in the fridge, taking in the décor. It was as sparsely furnished as his own flat, but far tidier. There was a stack of coasters on the coffee table and some weird spiral sculpture mounted on the wall, and Louis would’ve never expected Zayn to be such a homemaker. 

“Aren’t you going to put on shoes?” Harry asked as he locked his door. 

Louis wiggled his toes. “What for?” 

Harry goggled at him and Louis laughed, racing toward the stairway. Harry caught on quickly and hurried to beat him down the stairs. “You’re going to step on glass or a used needle or something,” he warned him as they started across the car park. 

“Then you’ll carry me home. My hero!” Louis said, jumping on his back. 

Harry reached down to grasp Louis’ thighs, carrying him easily. “I could. You don’t weigh a thing.” 

“Hey now,” Louis protested, sliding off Harry’s back and hopping around him to block his way, putting up his fists. “What are you trying to say there, Curly?” 

“That you’re a shrimp,” Harry taunted, slapping away Louis’ feinted punches. 

“Oh you’re dead now, Curlyman!” Louis shouted, unleashing a series of karate chops that never quite hit their mark. Harry let loose an odd squeal that made Louis crack up, and Harry cracked up too and pulled him into a sloppy headlock, and they play-fought like rambunctious schoolboys all the way to Tesco. 

By the time they got there, they were both out of breath and couldn’t stop laughing and ended up buying a bunch of junkfood and sitting in the doorway of their building to gorge themselves. Their conversation was so random that Louis couldn’t remember a word of it later, only that they’d laughed like loons the whole time. They finally went back upstairs because Harry said he needed a wee, and Louis got the feeling that he was going to be invited in to maybe finish off the beer, and fuck it, he was going to say yes. 

“Here,” he said, taking a nearly empty bag of Haribo off Harry. “Mind if I give our scraps to Niall? He’s had a shit day.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, looking like he’d suddenly remembered something unpleasant. “Yeah, of course.” 

Louis lingered while Harry unlocked his door, waiting for an invitation, but Harry flashed him a brief smile and said, “Good night.” 

“Okay,” Louis said dumbly. 

“And, uh, tell Niall it was nice to meet him,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” Louis said. “So, FIFA death-match tomorrow?” 

“Can’t.” Harry sounded genuinely regretful. “Big plans.” 

Louis nodded, feeling like a loser for even asking. Harry was probably going to a hardcore punk show or to spray-paint graffiti under a bridge with a street gang. 

“Yeah, _The Bachelor_ ’s meeting all the girls’ families. I’ve got to know what kind of demons spawned Tara,” Harry said solemnly. 

Louis laughed, surprised. “She’s bad, but if he doesn’t get rid of Melissa next, I’m done with him.” 

“Why, because she was badmouthing Helena?” Harry said. 

“Helena’s the only decent one of the crop, and Melissa’s definitely the one who sabotaged her dress for the picnic date!” Louis was getting riled up just thinking about it. 

“I think it was her and Molly,” said Harry. 

“Ah, a conspiracy theorist! I like it,” Louis said. “Okay, that’s it: you’re my official telly-viewing buddy. Tell me you’re into _The X-Factor_?” 

“Man, the groups are for shit this year!” Harry said. “Right now I’m rooting for that guy with the tattoos or else the single mother.” 

It took Louis a moment to realise they’d both fallen into silence and were simply standing in the corridor grinning at each other like idiots. His cheeks were warm, and he felt keyed up like something exciting was happening. How silly for him to get this worked up over reality television. “Okay, then. Tomorrow, same time, same place?” 

“I’ll bring fizzy drinks instead,” Harry said, a little mischievously. 

Louis chuckled, glad that they could joke about it. “And I’ll pick up a curry on the way home. What do you like?” 

“I’m not picky. Surprise me,” Harry said. “And on that note, I really do need a wee, so…” 

“Right,” Louis laughed, lifting a hand in a small wave and letting himself into his own flat. Once inside, he made a flying leap onto Niall on the sofa, earning himself a smack upside his head, but Niall’s irritation quickly faded when he saw the junkfood. Louis snuggled up to him, wanting to be close to someone. “Harry says nice to meet you.” 

Niall stuffed a handful of gummy bears in his mouth. “Didn’t interrupt anything earlier, did I?” 

“No, of course not,” Louis said, pushing his forehead against Niall’s shoulder to hide the heat flooding his face. 

“Figured you would’ve told me to get lost if I had,” Niall said. “I just wondered because he’s, uh… you know… I mean, for a guy…” 

“I knew we’d convert you one day, Nialler!” Louis said, just to take the mick. 

“Fuck off,” Niall smirked. “I just know your type. Tall, fit--” 

“Ohhh, you think he’s fiiit?” Louis cooed. 

“I meant, like, in shape,” Niall said. 

“Ohhh, you think he’s in shaaape? Why were you staring at his body?” Louis said. 

“Twat,” Niall laughed, shoving him. 

Louis crossed his arms and shrugged, “Look at him and look at me. We don’t make sense.” 

“Punk rocker and Princess Fluffyfringe,” Niall agreed. “Only, I thought opposites attract?” 

“Attraction isn’t the problem,” Louis said wryly, “but I told you, I’m done with flings. I’m looking for the guy I can be with forever, who wants to build a life with me.” 

“Christ, you’re twenty years old. Can’t that wait?” Niall said. “This is the time to party, not settle down.” 

“I’m not saying I want to stop having fun! Just because I find the love of my life doesn’t mean I’ll stop being a moron!” Louis said. “My soulmate will be spontaneous and funny and kind. He’ll just also know how to keep house and cook and remember to feed my dog.” 

“Your better half,” Niall said. “And you don’t have a dog.” 

“He’d buy me a dog, obviously,” Louis said impatiently. “Anyway, Harry is gorgeous and redefines charming, but you don’t have to be a rocket surgeon to see that he’s not that guy.” 

“Guess not,” Niall conceded. 

“He’s great, though,” Louis said. 

“Is he?” Niall said distractedly, tipping the dregs of a bag of Doritos into his mouth. 

“Crumbs everywhere!” Louis scolded, slapping his stomach, but Niall just laughed. “He’s dead funny, too. You’ll like him. He’s coming by tomorrow.” 

“Got plans,” Niall said. 

“He’ll be by Saturday for _X-Factor_ , too,” Louis said. 

“He watches _X-Factor_?” Niall hooted incredulously. 

“Looks can be deceiving!” Louis said. “He happens to have incredible taste in reality telly. We’re going to be viewing buddies.” 

“Viewing buddies instead of fuckbuddies. Now there’s a trade-off,” Niall said. 

“Are you quite finished?” Louis grumped. 

“I’m just picturing you and your punk rocker sitting here on the sofa like two little girls, cheering for the boybands,” Niall snickered. 

“We both agree the groups are for shit this year,” Louis informed him snootily. “And Harry is very insightful when it comes to commentary, I’ll have you know. I could listen to him wax poetic all day long. Not just because of his sexy voice, either.” 

Niall snorted. “Hadn’t noticed.” 

“ ‘course not. You were too busy staring at his fit body,” Louis said. 

Niall slapped him in the gut and Louis slapped him back before quieting down so Niall could watch some re-run of an inane American show. He zoned it out, reveling in his good mood. He was buzzing, on cloud nine. It was always nice to make a connection with someone new, gain a mate, but he felt like it was more than that. He and Harry were just so _compatible_ , despite their night-and-day appearances. Louis loved nothing more than a good laugh, and he’d laughed so much tonight that his stomach hurt. He felt as in-his-element with Harry as he did with his best friend from Doncaster, Stan – something Louis had thought impossible. It greatly lessened the sting of wanting so much to take Harry to bed but knowing that it was a terrible idea. A romance was obviously not in the cards, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a brilliant friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a patented 1D Massive Thank You™ to everyone who left comments and kudos. I appreciate the support :)


	3. Chapter 3

They’d been dating for barely five weeks, but already Liam and Zayn were basically living together. Which wasn’t really surprising because Liam was the type who fell fast and hard; every new boyfriend was a potential husband. Louis was the opposite; he was just as hopelessly romantic, but had yet to be in a relationship he thought might last forever. It was a bit early, in his opinion, to have Zayn sleeping over every single night. Of course, his reason for thinking so was that he’d been forced to clean his own bedroom until it was inhabitable for Niall to share. His rent had gone down, with Liam picking up the slack, and he didn’t mind sharing his space or his bed, but he hated being made to wash his dirty laundry on a regular basis (“The stink is going to make me puke, and when I do, I’ll do it all over your TOMS,” Niall had threatened). 

Louis had to admit that it was worth it to see Liam so happy, and maybe he didn’t have room to talk, anyway. For the past two weeks, he and Harry had been practically inseparable. Niall had quit the tea shop to work at a pub, and Liam and Zayn were always off doing Liam and Zayn Things, so Harry was his main source of companionship. Any time their schedules aligned, they rode the bus together. It had already become strange to watch telly or go to the skip without Harry beside him, or to buy take-away without ordering enough for two. Sure, he had other friends that he could’ve easily spent his time with, but none of them were as fun as Harry. And sure, he could’ve invited Harry along while hanging out with those friends, but he wasn’t quite ready to share him. Louis liked monopolising Harry’s attention. 

He was setting up dinner and beer on the coffee table when Harry walked in without knocking. He never knocked anymore, helped himself to anything in the fridge, replaced anything he finished, and sometimes Louis thought that Zayn and Harry’s flat had become little more than a storage space and a place for Harry to sleep. They never hung out there, not for any defined reason. It was just easier in his own flat, for Louis to control the urge to touch Harry. 

Alright, Louis touched Harry all time. Poked his cheeks, petted his curls, threw an arm around him, snuggled him. But those were things he’d do to any friend; totally platonic. Pretty much platonic. Platonic enough to be acceptable. Okay, so he never touched his other friends quite like that but _he totally would_ , maybe, if they had amazing curls like Harry’s that practically _asked_ to be petted. It was all the decidedly non-platonic touching urges that Louis was determined to resist. 

“I come bearing dessert,” Harry said, holding up a tube of cookie dough. 

“Good lad!” Louis praised. 

“Want it now, or should I pop it in the fridge?” Harry asked, already heading for the kitchen. 

“Yeah, fridge,” Louis confirmed, opening the last of the containers for their take-away Thai feast. 

Harry came back with a handful of napkins, anticipating Louis forgetting any, and they settled onto the sofa as the opening credits of _The Great British Bake-Off_ played. Harry was a shameless food-thief, but Louis was a no holds barred food-sharer, so they made good table fellows. Louis didn’t mind when Harry finished the half-eaten spring roll he’d set aside for later, and Harry didn’t bat an eye when Louis’ chopsticks ventured into his green curry. Curled up on the sofa, when grains of sticky rice fell out of Louis’ talking mouth and landed on Harry’s thigh, Harry would simply pick them up and eat them, nodding along to Louis’ running commentary. 

“FIFA or a movie?” Louis asked once the show was over. 

“Up to you,” Harry said. 

“Aren’t you sweet,” Louis cooed teasingly. “You always let me get my way.” 

Harry replied just as saccharinely, “It’s worth it to see your smiling face.” 

“This one?” Louis guessed, jutting out his jaw and crossing his eyes to pull a hideous expression. 

“Lovely! Just seeing you smile makes me smile, too,” Harry said, tucking his upper lip to bare his teeth while furrowing his brow and flaring his nostrils. 

Louis dug his finger into his favourite of Harry’s dimples, the really deep one on his left cheek. Harry grabbed his wrist to pull him off and Louis dove forward, licking into that dimple in a way that he hoped seemed impulsive and not like he’d spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming of it. Harry’s head whipped around, his eyes suddenly alert, and Louis flinched backwards instinctively. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping off Harry’s cheek. Before his hand could drop, Harry took that wrist, too. He could only stare as the glass-bottle green of Harry’s eyes deepened to a hue he felt quite sure that he could drown in. _Inexperienced_ wasn’t a word anyone would apply to Louis, but he was almost trembling, feeling somehow cowed. 

Harry bit his lip as though conflicted, and then his eyes cleared, and his long fingers subtly caressed Louis’ wrists before letting go. Louis’ hands dropped to his lap immediately and his head bowed. He closed his eyes and wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed, possibly both, when Harry stood and coughed awkwardly. “Whatever you want is fine, Lou.” 

It took him a second to realise what he meant. “How about a film, then? Something funny.” 

“Fine with me,” Harry said, gathering the rubbish from their dinner and taking it to kitchen. Louis tried not to be impressed by how much Harry could carry in his large hands. “You ready for cookie dough?” 

“Sure,” Louis said, popping a DVD in and flopping back onto the sofa. “Can you grab me a beer while you’re in there?” 

“Am I your manservant now?” Harry asked, but came back with two beers, spoons, and the tube of dough. He stood by the end of the sofa and stared down at Louis, and Louis reached out his foot to stroke Harry’s calf. Small smiles were exchanged, and any lingering awkwardness dissipated. 

“And a pillow?” Louis added. 

Harry rolled his eyes, set down the food, and headed for Louis’ room. 

“And bring my duvet?” Louis called after him. 

“Spoiled brat!” Harry accused, going in without bothering to turn on the lights. 

“What the fuck!” someone cried in a distinctly Irish accent. 

Louis sat up as Harry ran back into the living room looking spooked and didn’t stop until he was in the corner furthest from the sofa. “Er, I woke–” 

“Fuck’s sake, y’cunt, I’m trying t’sleep!” Niall shouted. There were sounds of rustling bedcovers, and then he burst into the living room stark naked. “Jesus, Lou! I’m late for work! Why didn’t you wake me up?” 

“I didn’t even know you were here!” Louis said. “It’s Monday. You’re usually gone by the time I get home.” 

“I came back to nap before my shift and forgot to set my alarm.” He noticed Harry and his shell-shocked face. “Aw shit, mate, was that you?” 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” Harry said, and Louis was amused that he looked uncomfortable with Niall’s nudity. Then again, he always seemed kind of uneasy around Niall, even though they got on just fine the few times they’d crossed paths. 

“Sorry for going off on ya, thought you were Lou,” Niall explained as he went to throw on clothes. “Fuck, I’m so not in the mood t’get told off at work.” 

“Maybe if you didn’t stay out all night drinking, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Louis said, solely to annoy him. Until a few weeks ago, he’d been partying alongside Niall. 

“Shut yer gob,” Niall said, emerging from the room fully dressed. “I’m off, then. No chance there’s any dinner left?” 

“Sorry,” Louis said. “I would’ve saved you some if I knew you were home.” 

“No worries,” Niall said, and waved at Harry. “Good seeing you, mate. You two should come by the pub some night; I’ll slip you some free pints.” 

“Cheers,” Harry said, still lingering in the corner. 

The front door slammed shut behind Niall and there was a beat of silence. Louis looked at Harry questioningly. “You gonna get the duvet?” 

Instead of answering, Harry shook out his hair and swooped his fringe to one side, an act he performed countless times a day, and one Louis found endlessly fascinating. Honestly, he could watch it on loop. 

“And a pillow?” he prompted. 

Harry moved jerkily at first, not that he was ever very graceful – another quality Louis found absurdly endearing. He watched as Harry’s stork legs found their stride, and soon a pillow and duvet landed on his head and Harry plopped onto the other side of the sofa. 

“Thanks a lot, you filthy punk!” Louis kicked him. 

“Hey!” Harry complained in a slightly whiny voice that instantly charmed Louis. Which was probably bad news for Harry, because it was now one of Louis’ goals in life to hear it as often as possible. He kicked him again and Harry grabbed his foot and said, “Ungrateful!” 

Louis twisted, trying to free his foot as Harry tickled it mercilessly. “Aah, stop! Release me, you demon!” 

“Never!” Harry bent over and pretended to bite it. 

Louis shrieked gleefully and rabbit-kicked him with his free foot. “Come on, I’ll – I’ll let you share my blankie!” 

It was hardly a bribe; Harry always shared Louis’ blankets when they lounged on the sofa, but Harry pushed both feet away and said, “Keep it. It’s got Niall’s willy germs all over it.” 

Louis laughed at that, tucking the duvet around his legs protectively. “It’s got my willy germs on it, too. And our bum germs. And you’ve used it before, so they’ve been all over you. Probably still there… stuck in your hair.” 

He paused when Harry didn’t laugh, instead stared at him broodingly. “Only a joke,” he said at length. 

Harry looked down at his own knees and said, “I think… we should go out.” 

Louis’ heart stuttered in his chest. “What?” 

“What Niall said, we should go. To his pub. We’re always here alone. I think it would be good for— to go out,” Harry said. 

Louis couldn’t suppress a twinge of hurt at the idea that maybe his company wasn’t enough, but tried to joke it off. “Sure, you’re right. We’ve been acting like a pair of shut-ins, meanwhilst our wild oats are going unsowed… unsown? Whatever. There’s oats, and they’re wild, and nobody’s sowing them.” 

“Saturday, then,” Harry said, oddly determined. “Me, you, and whoever else, we’ll go hang out with Niall.” 

“Okay,” Louis said, and it occurred to him that he would very much like to meet some of Harry’s friends. He imagined punk rockers with hearts of gold masked by menacing exteriors. Maybe they’d teach him how to use a switchblade or hotwire a car. 

“I’d like to get to know him,” Harry continued. 

“Who, Niall?” Louis asked. 

“Yeah. And I’m sure he’d like to get to know me, considering how much time you and I spend together,” Harry said. 

Louis shrugged. Niall hadn’t expressed a particular interest, but he was a friendly sort. They’d probably get on like a house on fire, which kind of displeased Louis. Harry was _his_ friend. 

“Fuck! The cookie dough!” he remembered, reaching for it. 

“Is it melty?” Harry said. 

“No, actually, it’s kind of squishy and perfect,” Louis said, trying to tear it open using his teeth. “Shit, do we have a knife?” 

“You mean, can I go get a knife,” Harry said dryly. 

Louis smiled winningly. 

* 

The next evening, Harry never got on the bus home. Louis considered texting him, before realising they’d never exchanged numbers. They’d been joined at the hip for two weeks, and Louis was a veritable font of knowledge when it came to Useless Harry Trivia. He knew that Harry was obsessed with Branston Pickle but hated mayonnaise, supported Manchester United like any sane man should, and had a dream the other night that a bird stole his shoelaces. So it was a bit odd to realise he didn’t know some of the most rudimentary facts about Harry. Where he worked, for example, or where he might be when he wasn’t on the evening bus. 

He was halfway across the car park when he spotted Harry getting out of a sleek black car, and he wasn’t alone. Louis slowed his pace, wanting to meet them at the door so he could get a look at the woman holding Harry’s arm and saying something that made him laugh. Her skirt was quite short and her high heels quite tall, and Louis had to admit she had a nice shape. But once they all reached the doorway, he was shocked that she appeared well into her thirties. 

If he ever pictured Harry with a girl – and he hadn’t really, but if he did it would certainly not be this glamourous older woman whose face was mediocre at best. Nothing special. Not good enough for Harry, anyway. 

“Lou!” Harry said jovially, holding the door open. Louis stepped through it first, letting the woman follow. “This is Caroline. She might come out on Saturday.” 

“We’ll see,” she said. “So you’re the famous Louis?” 

He smiled tightly and shook the manicured hand she offered. “Am I famous?” 

“Around Teasdale’s, you are,” she said. _Teasdale’s_ , he filed that away for later. “You’re the boy next door who’s been hiding Harry.” 

“Looks like you found him,” he said smoothly, leading the way up the stairs. 

He could hear movement behind him, someone getting smacked, but didn’t turn around. When he was at his door, he only looked over at them because Harry said, “So, _Million Pound_ tonight. How about a home-cooked meal for once?” 

“Can’t beat dinner and a show,” Caroline said, holding up a tote bag that Louis assumed held groceries. 

It _wasn’t_ jealousy that made him rather stab himself with a rusty fork than eat anything that woman cooked; it was that he didn’t feel like being around so many people. He’d rather curl up on the sofa with some Pot Noodle. He could handle maybe _one_ person’s company, but two seemed taxing. Anyway, he wasn’t going to be the lonely loser intruding on Harry’s… night. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.” 

Harry’s smile faltered. “Oh? With Niall?” 

“Yup,” he lied. “He’s got the night off, so we thought we’d treat ourselves to a nice meal. Maybe The Ivy.” 

“I love The Ivy!” Caroline said. “We went there for my birthday last month.” 

He bit his tongue to keep from remarking on how many candles might’ve been on her cake. He looked at Harry. “So, yeah, big plans. Funny how we both made other plans tonight. Great minds think alike, I guess.” 

Harry nodded and looked down at the keys in his hand. 

“My arm’s about to fall off,” Caroline said, and he sprung into action unlocking the door for her, fussing at her for refusing to let him carry the bag. “Nice meeting you,” she said as she went inside. 

“You too. See you Saturday, maybe,” Louis said, and asked Harry, “See you in the morning?” because they usually rode the morning bus together on Wednesdays. 

“Oh, uh, Caroline’s giving me a ride, so…” Harry trailed off. 

Louis nodded, trying not to blush or vomit or sound mental as he unlocked his door and rambled, “Ah, of course. Well, enjoy your night. I’m sure you will. And your food. And everything else. Goodnight. See you whenever. Bye.” 

And then he was safely inside his flat, and he stalked into his bedroom and threw himself facedown on the bed, landing half on top of Niall, who grunted and stirred. 

“You better be wearing pants under there,” he mumbled into the mattress. 

“I’m not,” Niall said frankly. “We can sleep starkers if the other’s not home; that’s the deal.” 

“But then you get your willy germs all over the place and no one wants to come over anymore,” Louis accused. “And I’m stuck here eating Pot Noodle and watching telly by myself.” 

“Whassat?” Niall said, rolling over to look at him. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m going to die alone,” he moaned. 

“Where’s Harry?” Niall said. “Why don’t you go die with him?" 

“Harry has a date,” said Louis. 

Niall looked surprised. “I thought you and him kinda had something going on?” 

“You thought wrong,” Louis said. 

“He’s here all the time,” Niall said. “Seemed like you two were vibing?” 

“Yeah, well, he’s vibing with someone else tonight,” he said sullenly. “And I told you a hundred times, I’m done with casual hook-ups. I want something real.” 

“Right, and he doesn’t, because he’s got holes in his blue jeans,” Niall said sarcastically. 

“Because he’s got holes in his blue jeans and some over-the-hill slag in his flat!” Louis snapped. “And he wasted no time letting me know she’s spending the night. So don’t… it’s not that I don’t fancy Harry, okay? It’s that I’m trying to quit wasting my time and find happiness and it’s fucking hard and lonely and I’m sick to death of the same old bullshit!” 

Niall was quiet, stunned by his outburst, and then patted his back consolingly. “You’ll find your perfect guy, I know it. Just give it time.” 

Louis sighed loudly. 

“Have you eaten?” Niall said, climbing over him and off the bed. “What you need is some Nando’s. On me. Come on, up and at ‘em.” 

“Peri-peri chicken is your cure for everything,” he said, letting Niall help him up. 

“It’s good for what ails ya,” Niall agreed. 

* 

Louis successfully avoided Harry for the rest of the week by taking a different bus route (inconvenient as hell, but desperate times called for desperate measures) and going out drinking every night. It was funny how a few weeks off from partying could seem like an eternity. The first night back on the scene, it all felt foreign and undesirable, but after that it was like he’d never stopped. His friends welcomed him into the fold with a minimum of good-natured ribbing for “falling off the face of the Earth.” They were a good lot and always a laugh, but he yearned for his best friend Stan from back home. Stan would crack just the right jokes to make the loneliness wane. But then Louis thought about how well Stan would get on with Harry, and how he’d like to introduce them someday, and that made him want to drown himself in his pint glass. 

He didn’t let himself hope that Harry missed him or wondered what he was doing, the way he wondered about Harry, missed Harry. So he was surprised when he got home on Friday night, technically Saturday morning as it was well past midnight, and found a folded note taped to his front door. At first he assumed it was from their landlord, but he opened it and saw it was addressed to him. 

**Lou,**  
 **Long time, no see!**  
 **Don’t tell me you cured your reality telly addiction w/o me? Haha**  
 **Ran into Niall & he asked if we’re still going to the pub**  
 **tomorrow. Are we? Text me if you want.**  
 **Harry**  
  


At the bottom was Harry’s number, and Louis immediately programmed it into his phone and texted: 

_yes I miss u x_

He was more tired than drunk, but he fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. 

* 

He awoke around noon with a fierce thirst and a series of texts on his phone. He splashed water on his face from the kitchen tap and gulped down a bottle of Gatorade before reading them. 

_sorry I dont have this number in my phone. who is this?_

_lou?_

_this is harry. is this lou?_

_I miss u too .x_

Louis smiled and texted back: 

_soz I just woke up.. yeah this is me :)_

It only took a moment for him to get a reply: 

_what time u want to go? I work till 6. home by 7 w/ food if u want?_

Instead of replying, Louis called him. It only rang once. 

“ _Hello?_ ” 

And just the sound of Harry’s voice made Louis grin. It seemed like it had been so much longer than four days since he’d heard it last. “Hi.” 

“ _Lou_ ,” said with such warmth. 

“Haz.” He could hear the affection in his own voice. “Working hard or hardly working?” 

“ _Working hard at hardly working_.” 

“That seems like it would defeat the purpose.” 

Harry chuckled quietly and Louis chewed on his bottom lip. 

“ _What time do you want to head to the pub? Should I pick up dinner?_ ” 

“Sure, thanks. We’ll leave whenever, around eight or nine?” 

“ _Sounds good. So…_ ” 

“So…” 

“ _Where’ve you— How’s your week been?_ ” 

“Can’t complain. Yours?” 

“ _Bit boring. What’ve you been up to? Haven’t seen you around._ ” 

“Just catching up with friends.” 

“ _Will they be there tonight?_ ” 

Louis’ nose wrinkled; he was a bit put off by how adamant Harry was to have other people with them, as if they couldn’t have fun alone. “I haven’t invited anyone yet. I’ll send some texts, I guess.” 

“ _Great. I already texted Zayn. He and Liam are going to meet us there._ ” 

“Right,” said Louis, properly peeved now. As if _Liam_ was more fun than him. “Alright, I’ve got coursework to do.” 

“ _Lou?_ ” 

“Yeah,” he said shortly. 

“ _It’s good to hear from you,_ ” so sweet and sincere, and his irritation vanished. It had only been a few days, but Harry sounded like maybe he’d been missing Louis as much as Louis had been missing him. 

“Geek,” Louis said fondly. They said their goodbyes and hung up. He poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and sprawled out on the sofa to watch telly. Then he’d need to shower and figure out what to wear. Not that he would take long to decide, or change his mind a dozen times, or that he even really _cared_ what he looked like – any more than usual. But Harry had never seen him dressed for a night out, and maybe he wanted to impress him just a little. Anyway, a boy should always look his best; he never knew when Mr. Right might come along. 

* 

Harry arrived at a quarter to seven with a couple of take-away sandwiches, and the look on his face made all of Louis’ careful grooming worthwhile. After dinner, he went to his own flat to change and came back twenty minutes later in a plain white t-shirt, his ripped black jeans and signature ratty Converse, and a black leather jacket. His hair was still the tiniest bit damp from the shower but curling perfectly, and he smelled like fresh cologne and fruity shampoo and it was all a bit devastating. To think that Louis had spent nearly as much time deciding which braces to wear with which trousers was a tad irksome, but he supposed Harry couldn’t help being so effortlessly alluring. 

As they rode the bus to the pub, Harry pulled earbuds out of his pocket and plugged them into his iPhone, and Louis accepted the offer to share. Punk music wasn’t his thing, but he found himself enjoying it because it reminded him of Harry. One song in particular surprised him, more romantic than he’d expect of the genre, and he held Harry’s hand to tilt his phone so he could read the screen. 

“One of my favourites,” Harry said, and Louis nodded and smiled. 

He was aware the looks they got from other passengers, and again when they walked into the pub. He knew people were wondering how such a mismatched pair had come to be, and he thought that if he were one of those people, he’d find the incongruity rather adorable. 

“What’re you smirking at?” Harry asked as they sat at the bar. 

“Us,” Louis said. “Posh Spice and Punk Spice.” 

Harry guffawed loudly and slapped his hand over his mouth, and Louis grinned. He didn’t know how he’d gone four days without making Harry laugh like that; it was his absolute favourite when Harry tried to muffle himself as though shocked and embarrassed by his own mirth. 

Louis twisted on his stool, checking along the length of the counter for a bartender. “Who’s a guy got to blow to get a pint around here, eh?” 

Harry wiggled his eyebrows naughtily. 

“Jump over the bar and grab me a beer,” Louis said. 

“You really think I’ll do anything you say, don’t you?” Harry said. 

“Aw come on, Hazza! Then we can discuss how much we both love Screaming Weasel,” he enticed. 

“Screeching Weasel,” Harry corrected indulgently. 

“Whatever. I liked that one song; it was sweet,” he said. “It reminded me of you.” 

A look passed over Harry’s face too quickly for Louis to discern it. “Did it?” 

“Mhm,” he confirmed, twisting on his stool again, this time to take in the whole room. “Oi, there he is. Hey, bartender!” 

“Coming!” Niall yelled from across the pub where he was wiping a table clean. 

Louis glanced at Harry triumphantly and found him facing the counter, his shoulders hunched. He nudged him with his elbow. “They have good chips here, want to split some?” 

Harry nodded and looked past him, his face lighting up in what almost looked like relief. “Zayn and Liam are here,” he said, rushing to greet them and lead them to a table. 

By the time Louis caught up, Harry was sitting next to Zayn, so he took the empty chair by Liam. Niall brought over four pints and a plate of chips on the house. Traffic was slow enough that he could sit and chat with them, and Liam was in that certain mood he had (that Louis loved) where he was amenable and mischievous, and they had a contest to see who could land a chip on top of a drunk guy’s hat. 

Eventually the drunk guy roused and staggered out of the pub, business picked up and Niall couldn’t goof off anymore, and Liam said he had the morning shift at the tea shop. Zayn of course went home with him, leaving Louis and Harry alone at the table. “Just me and you,” Louis said. “Am I going to be enough entertainment, or should we invite over that elegant madam in the penis hat?” 

Harry craned his neck to see who Louis meant. “I think that’s a hen party.” 

“A whole gaggle of women with bad intentions,” Louis said. “That sounds right up your alley. Shall I fetch them?” 

Harry looked at him dubiously. “I’m fine, thanks.” 

“Suit yourself,” Louis shrugged. 

“Niall’s cool,” Harry said out of nowhere. 

“Niall’s sick,” Louis agreed. “King of the Leprechauns.” 

“Yeah, I like him a lot. He’s cool,” Harry repeated. 

“I’ll be sure to let him know he’s got a fan,” Louis said. 

“Are any of your friends coming?” Harry asked. 

Louis tried not to grimace, but he was fed up with the implication that they couldn’t have fun on their own. “I forgot to invite them.” 

“Oh.” Harry looked almost _worried_ or something, and Louis let himself frown now. It was insulting, really. He prided himself on being a one-man fiesta. 

“Now that we’re _finally_ alone, we can have some real fun,” he said. 

Harry raised his eyebrows, lips curling up at the edges. “Like what?” 

“A drinking game!” Louis said, intent on proving himself. “First we need fresh pints.” 

They went up to the bar for refills, and as they were waiting, a girl on the other side waved them over. She was cute but obviously pissed, as were her friends, and they all wore necklaces with little blinking penis charms; the hen party they’d spotted earlier. “Come over here!” 

Harry looked at Louis like _What do you think?_ and Louis smiled and grabbed Harry’s arm to haul him over to the girls, seizing the chance to show what fun he could be at a pub. “Ladies!” he said, “I can see from your attire that you’ve just come from Bible study.” 

The girls tittered and shoved the one wearing the condom-and-penis covered veil forward. “She’s getting married next weekend!” one exclaimed. 

“Congratulations, my dear,” Louis said, taking her hand and smooching it noisily. “How about making one last mistake with my dashing friend Harold?” 

She giggled and looked at Harry coyly, and Harry shook his head but grinned dazzlingly. The girls bought round after round of drinks, pulling them into their celebration, and Louis watched with a mix of admiration and bemusement as Harry charmed them all easily. From the moment he’d met Harry, he could tell he was a flirt, but this was the first time he’d seen him in action. It was somewhat unsettling to see those dimples and hear that teasing voice aimed at other people, when he’d been used to being their sole target. Maybe it was better after all that they weren’t alone; it was a good reminder why Louis needed to quash the part of him so foolishly infatuated with Harry. 

He threw himself into the moment, drowning unpleasant feelings with alcohol and unpleasant thoughts with bawdy jokes. It was good fun, really; Louis always had good fun with Harry, until the maid-of-honor announced that it was time to move on to a dance club, and the girls begged them to come along. A quick shared glance and they declined, ultimately saying they might join up later just to get them to leave. 

“That was interesting,” Harry said, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with drink. “I think the short one wanted a threesome. She kept saying it’s okay if there’s a girl there.” 

Louis snorted. “What did you say?” 

“I told her it’s okay if there isn’t. I don’t think she got it,” Harry said. 

Louis moved near, so near he had to tilt his head back to look up at him. “They all fancied you... but who could blame them?” 

Harry licked his lips, looking tipsy but contemplative, and swayed closer. 

Louis tugged on the lapels of Harry’s jacket and peeked up through his eyelashes. “Bet you could’ve even had it off with the bride-to-be.” 

Harry stiffened and turned toward the bar. “I’m not into homewrecking.” 

“Haz?” Louis asked, putting a hand on his arm. 

Harry’s laughter sounded forced. “Another round then?” 

Louis was confused, his brain fuzzy around the edges from all the booze. “Sure. My treat.” 

They were making their way to a table with fresh pints when a well-dressed group bustled through the door and someone shouted, “Harry!” 

“Hey!” he replied cheerfully, but Louis put down his beer and took a seat before really studying them. There were five– no, six of them, all quite fashionable and looking to be in their late-twenties to mid-thirties. They were the type he would expect to see in magazine photos of London’s trendiest hotspots, not in a pub like this. Judging by the way they gawked at their surroundings, they concurred. 

“What a quaint little haunt you’ve lured us to,” a man with a brown quiff and a Dr. Dre t-shirt said. “And who is this enchanting creature?” 

“This is Louis,” Harry said, a hint of pride in his voice, as if Louis were something impressive he’d found. 

“Ah, _Louis_ ,” the man said, in a tone similar to the one Caroline had used when they’d met, and Louis wondered what exactly Harry had told them about him. “I was sure Harry had invented you as a way to hide a newfound opiate addiction. I pictured him in a den of iniquity, surrounded by geishas, texting me lies about an imaginary friend for why he’s been missing in action.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Louis, this is Nick. He thinks he’s clever.” 

“I think I’m _brilliant_ ,” Nick amended, and rattled off the names of the rest of the group too quickly for Louis to catch them. “So what’s there to do for fun in a place like this? Is there a snooker table in the back or such? A game of Who’s Got the Button?” 

Louis smiled sharply. “Actually, before you came, young Harold single-handedly seduced an entire bridal party.” 

“Young Harold, you shock me,” Nick said theatrically, accepting the mixed drink one of his friends handed him. “Did you give the bride something to think about on her honeymoon?” 

Harry laughed and Louis bristled, wondering why it was alright for Nick to joke about that but not for Louis. He slumped back in his chair and watched moodily as Nick made everyone laugh, made Harry muffle his own laughter with his hand. Nick was very funny – perhaps even funnier than Louis, and Louis didn’t like when people were funnier than him; Stan being the notable exception. Louis considered his sense of humour his greatest virtue, and he was competitive by nature. He wasn’t sure what he had to offer if he wasn’t The Funny One, and nursed his beer despondently. 

Eventually Harry noticed and nudged him with his elbow, leaning close to murmur, “You okay?” 

Louis turned his head and whispered, “Your friends are old.” 

“What?” Harry said. 

Louis smoothed back the curls around Harry’s ear and repeated, “Your friends. Are. Old.” 

Harry pulled back with a baffled expression, then laughed and leaned in again. “They’re not _that_ old. Nick is like, twenty-eight, I think?” 

Louis put his hand on Harry’s cheek, keeping him in place, and closed his eyes to enjoy the lips brushing faintly against his ear. His head was spinning, but touching felt so good. 

“I don’t know, I’ve always thought age was just a number. Give them a chance; I think you’ll get on. I know Nick can be a bit much when he’s on the piss. We can leave if he’s really bothering you?” 

He shook his head slightly, wanting to stay right where he was for as long as he could, with Harry’s soft cheek in his hand and warm breath on his ear. 

A welcoming cheer went up around them, but he paid no attention until Harry moved away. He watched as Harry hugged the new arrival – Caroline, as stylish as ever in a minidress that he uncharitably thought was better suited to a woman ten years younger. She kissed both of Harry’s cheeks and then reached for Louis. He lifted off his seat for a quick, one-armed hug. “You made it,” he said, not bothering to feign enthusiasm. 

“Sorry I’m so late,” she said. “What’d I miss?” 

“Beyoncé and Jay-Z just left,” Nick lamented, “but there’s rumours Jedward might make an appearance.” 

“That sounds wicked, actually,” she played along. “Oh god, this place is packed. I won’t find a seat.” 

“Here,” Harry said immediately, starting to get up, but she pushed him down and sat on his lap. 

“Am I too heavy?” she asked. 

“’course not,” he smiled at her, and Louis stood abruptly. 

“Have mine,” he said, and walked away. 

Harry was at his side before he even made it to the bar. “Where are you going?” 

“I need a wee,” Louis said, shoving him lightly. “Go back to your pensioners.” 

“Want me to come with you?” Harry said. 

“For what,” he said snippily. “You going to help me shake it off?” 

Harry halted, and Louis glanced back at him sloppily, his vision blurring with the movement. He skirted the bar and went into the corridor where the toilets were but bypassed them in favour of the furthest door; the one he knew led to the back alley. He stumbled into the night’s air and took a deep breath, one hand on the side of the building to keep himself upright. He made his way around to the front of the pub and stood on the kerb for what felt like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes, until he managed to flag down a cab. 

He wasn’t halfway home when his phone started going off, and he turned it on silent and lay down across the seat, ignoring the cabbie asking if he was alright. He somehow made it to his flat and stripped off as soon as he got inside, throwing his clothes on the floor carelessly. He stood starkers in the kitchen eating leftover pizza straight from the fridge, chugged a glass of tap water, and then plucked his phone from where it’d landed on the floor and fumbled his way to bed. He squinted at his screen with one eye, trying to make the swimming letters hold still long enough to read them. 

Four missed calls. Harry. Eight missed text messages. 

_where r u_

_did u leave?_

_lou where r u srsly_

_did u get sick?_

_r u outside I cant see u_

_louis pls I’m rly worried r u ok????_

_did u go home????_

_pls tell me if u went Hume_

He figured that last one was autocorrect. He clumsily typed _wen home ur frends r old bye_ , hit send, threw his phone on the ground, and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a fun day getting to hear TMH in its entirety :3 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, they really help motivate me and thanks for the kudos, too :)


	4. Chapter 4

Louis blindly reached for his phone, knocking a few items off of the bedside table before finding it and turning off his alarm. It was one-thirty in the afternoon and he had to be at work by three. Thanks to the pizza he’d eaten before bed, he wasn’t too hungover. He showered, dressed, collected yesterday’s clothes from where he’d left them on the floor by the front door, and slapped together a sandwich. He didn’t feel guilty when he saw Niall sleeping on the sofa. He might’ve done it because Louis went to bed nude, but it was just as likely that he’d wanted to fall asleep watching telly. 

When he texted Liam to ask how busy the tea shop was (usually Sundays were quiet, because the shop was close to campus and the majority of their customers were uni students), he noticed a few missed texts from Harry. The first was sent shortly after Louis had finally answered the texts asking where he’d gone. 

_ok glad ur home safe_

About fifteen minutes later: 

_do u need anythg? u asleep?_

Hours later, clearly sent by a highly intoxicated Harry: 

_had fun wit u wish u didnt leave sry if u dindt like my friends lou syrsly I wish can u just someday happen idk sry sry nile I wills leave u alone ok idk I wish a lot of things?? im durnk sry_

Then about thirty minutes before Louis’ alarm had gone off: 

_Hi, pls ignore that last text. I don’t even know what I was trying to say! haha . Zayn told me ur working today. hope u feel ok._

He read the texts several times, feeling more and more awful for acting like such a shit. As soon as he finished eating, he threw on a hoodie, grabbed his messenger bag, and went next door to apologise to Harry. When he knocked, he heard Zayn yell, “Who is it?” 

“Me!” he said, trying the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, he let himself in. 

“Hey,” said Zayn from his perch on the sofa. He was wearing plastic gloves and a bottle of lotion sat on the coffee table. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, and read the bottle’s label: _Glamourous Vixen Bronze Glow Self-Tanning Lotion_. “What the fuck is that?” 

“I got it off the internet,” Zayn said. 

“Why are you wearing gloves?” Louis said. 

“So it won’t stain my hands,” Zayn said, and when Louis cracked up, he added indignantly, “In case you don’t know, Liam prefers guys with good tans!” 

“Then why not get some sun like a normal bloke?” Louis said, still laughing. 

“Causes wrinkles,” Zayn sniffed. “Get out if you’re gonna be a twat.” 

“I wanted to talk to Harry, actually, is he here?” Louis glanced at the slightly ajar bedroom door. 

“I talked to him earlier; he kipped at a friend’s place,” Zayn said. 

“Oh… Caroline?” Louis guessed dourly. 

“Nick,” Zayn said, applying another layer of lotion. “This DJ he’s good mates with.” 

“Yeah, I met him last night. He’s a DJ?” Louis said, trying not to sound envious. “That’s a wicked job.” 

“Yeah, it is. He’s good; he’s really funny,” Zayn said. “Did you guys meet him at a club or something?” 

“No, he came by later on, after you left,” Louis said. 

“Wow, can’t picture him in a place like that,” Zayn laughed. “Totally not his speed. Was all them, like, hipsters with him? Would’ve liked to see them in there.” 

“Yeah, a whole group came,” Louis said. 

“Were they in total culture shock? They usually hang out in really posh places,” Zayn said. 

“No, actually, they were really nice,” Louis said. “They must really like Harry to spend their Saturday in a hole-in-the-wall pub.” 

“Yeah, they love him,” Zayn said. “He’s got the most random variety of friends, I swear. He’s like actual friends with my grandma. They email each other.” 

Louis could’ve really done without that tidbit of information, because it was ridiculously fucking adorable and he didn’t need any help adoring Harry. It made him feel even worse about his behaviour the night before; what kind of drunken douchebag ditches a guy who emails other people’s grandmas? 

“Hey, don’t you have work?” 

He broke out of his thoughts and checked the time on his phone. “Shit, yeah. I’ve got to catch my bus. See you later.” 

Zayn called goodbye as Louis slammed the door behind himself. He raced down to the bus stand and made it just in time, flopping into an empty seat with a sigh of relief. It took almost the entire bus ride for him to formulate the text he sent Harry: 

_really sorry I disappeared on u last nite. I had fun to. ur friends are nice. I’m a smelly water buffalo. forgive me?_

So, it wasn’t exactly eloquent, but he hoped it would be enough. 

* 

The bell above the door chimed, signaling a customer’s arrival, and Louis looked up from the magazine he was reading. His eyes went big when he found Harry standing before him in dark blue jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a grey beanie. It should absolutely not have been as striking as it was, but the way the shirt pulled across his broad chest and dark curls spilled out from beneath the beanie was soul-crushingly lovely. 

“Hey,” Harry said with a half-smile. “So this is the tea shop. I didn’t realise it was this one. I walk by it every day.” 

Louis nodded. It occurred to him that he’d never seen Harry come in. They had entirely different majors – law for Harry and drama for Louis— so it wasn’t strange that they didn’t run into each other on the campus itself, but Cuppa was the closest tea shop; the one everyone went to when they needed a quick fix. 

He said as much, and was gobsmacked when Harry replied, “Yeah, I go to the Starbucks on the corner.” 

“You’re a _coffee drinker_?” Louis gasped, the way some might say, ‘You kick puppies for fun?’ 

“You sound like someone who hasn’t tried their Mango Passion Fruit Frappuccino,” Harry said, seeming amused by Louis’ horror. 

“Oh god, stop,” Louis begged. “Go sit, you’re obviously delirious. I’ll bring you a proper cup and you’ll see the error of your ways.” 

He set about concocting the perfect tea – Yorkshire brand, milk, no sugar –and loading a plate with fresh-baked biscuits. He didn’t often let himself indulge in the shop’s selection of pastries, but they were quite tasty, especially the sugar cookies. 

Harry lingered by the counter, watching Louis work, and he shooed him off. “Go on, sit. It’ll only be a minute.” 

He prepared himself a cup, too, and joined Harry at the table he’d chosen by the window. 

“Here,” he said, pushing a cup and the plate toward him. “Taste this and learn why your entire life up to this point has been a lie.” 

“These look good,” Harry said, reaching for the plate. 

“Try the sugar cookie,” he advised, and Harry picked it up obediently and took a big bite, making a little noise of appreciation. “Good?” 

Harry made the noise again and Louis wanted to bring over the entire batch and just listen to him eat them. “Try the tea,” he said. 

Harry glanced down into his cup disinterestedly. 

“Come on,” Louis coaxed. “Can’t beat a good cup of Yorkshire tea.” 

“Are you their spokesperson?” Harry teased. 

“I wish,” Louis said. “Go on, before it gets cold.” 

Harry leaned down to sniff it, then straightened and said, “I’ve just never really liked tea.” 

“Everyone likes tea,” Louis said. 

Harry grimaced but took a sip. “No sugar?” 

“Why are you insane?” Louis asked with genuine concern. “Sugar in your tea? Why don’t you go pay a hobo to spit in it, while you’re at it?” 

Harry snickered and took another sip, wrinkling his nose and pushing the cup away afterward. “Maybe it’s an acquired taste.” 

“Loser,” Louis accused, but fetched him a tall glass of milk. He finished his tea quickly and started in on Harry’s, because wasting tea was an outright crime in his book, and enjoyed the sight of Harry munching on biscuits with the barest hint of a milk moustache. Upon closer inspection, his eyes were a bit bleary, as if he’d either just awoken from or was in need of a nap, and his skin was paler than usual, making his lips look even pinker. Leave it to Harry to make a hangover attractive. 

“Long night?” Louis asked, aiming for casual. 

Harry’s eyebrows rose in agreement. “Too long. After the pub, everyone headed over to Nick’s and kept going.” 

“Everyone?” Louis echoed, but what he really wanted to say was, _Caroline?_

“Everyone except you,” Harry amended. 

“Oh,” Louis said, and ducked his head a bit. “Yeah, sorry about that.” 

“No worries,” Harry said. “Those two blondes were practically pouring shots down your throat.” 

Louis nodded, vaguely remembering the giggling bachelorettes who’d roped him into some weird drinking game that he’d only understood well enough to lose. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “Tonight. Drinks are on me.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry said, starting in on a double-chocolate chip biscuit. “Anyway, I have an essay due on Friday. I should work on it.” He kicked the rucksack by his feet that Louis hadn’t even noticed he’d brought with him. 

“Work here, then,” Louis said. “Anything you want on the house.” 

“This massive plate of biscuits will do me just fine,” Harry said, but looked pleased by the offer. “I won’t be in your way?” 

“Nah, it’s dead on Sundays. You’ll be doing me a favour, really, giving me some motivation,” Louis said. “I brought my coursework with me, but I haven’t even touched it yet. We can push two tables together and have us a little revision session.” 

“Sounds good,” Harry said warmly. 

“Let me grab my books,” Louis said, getting up to retrieve his messenger bag from behind the counter. 

Harry stood, too. “I’ll be back… with a latte the size of my head. Want anything?” 

“You can’t bring that swill in here,” Louis threatened, but Harry just laughed. 

* 

“Look at how beautiful the weather is today,” Louis said. 

“Why don’t you look at how beautiful your Art History notes are instead,” Harry suggested. 

“These are the best years of our lives, I hope you know,” Louis continued. “And we’re indoors, slaves to the trappings of the material world. Look at those birds. They’re loving it. They’re out in nature, just fucking _loving it_.” 

He glanced at Harry and frowned when he saw he was being ignored. “We should be like birds, Harry. Go to the bird.” 

“Go to the ant,” Harry corrected absently. 

“Ants never have any fun,” Louis argued. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Go where?” Harry said, finally looking at him. 

Louis grinned, encouraged, and grabbed his hand, tugging him up and out the door. “To the birds!” he said, leading Harry across the road. Harry laughed and Louis moved faster, until they were running toward the flock resting in the grass. They whooped and leaped and scared them off. 

“Hey, there he is!” Louis pointed, just as the one-legged pigeon took flight. He took Harry’s other hand and they twirled around recklessly, their heads thrown back, until Harry tripped over his own feet and they tumbled to the grass. 

The sky was baby blue and the clouds were white candy floss – just perfect. Louis closed his eyes and relished the sun on his skin. 

“I want to fall asleep right here,” Harry said. 

“Do it, then,” he said. 

“Wake up with ants in my hair or summat,” Harry mumbled. 

“Go to the ant,” he said, sitting up for a moment to strip off his hoodie and throw it on Harry’s face. “To protect your majesty’s precious curls.” 

Harry spread out the hoodie and lay back down. “Thanks. You can share if you want.” 

“Are you mad? Ants in your hair are a great exfoliator,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head as he settled back into his spot. 

“I don’t think you exfoliate hair,” Harry said. 

“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Vidal Sassoon,” he said. “I’m au naturel over here.” 

“Lou.” 

He turned his head and saw Harry reaching out a hand. He held it, and Harry yanked him over. A small thrill ran through Louis at the display of Harry’s strength, the way he pulled Louis close so easily. He crashed into Harry’s side and floundered for a moment before resting in the crook of his arm, his head on Harry’s shoulder. He looked up at him discreetly, checking for his reaction, but Harry’s eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, like a sleeping angel. Louis nearly laughed at himself for the platitude, but where for others it might be a cliché, in this case it was an undeniable truth. Harry looked like someone Botticelli would’ve painted with wings. 

Harry cracked an eye open, as if he’d felt Louis’ gaze, and made an inquisitive noise. “Have I got a bogey?” 

Louis craned his neck to check both nostrils before answering. “All clear.” 

Harry’s eye slipped shut. “So you’re just staring in horror at my weirdly large nostrils?” 

“Now that you mention it…” Louis teased, and Harry gave him a gentle thump on the head. “No, I was just thinking… you’re the kind of guy that would’ve given Michelangelo a boner.” 

And then Harry’s entire body was curling in on itself, unceremoniously dumping Louis on the ground, and he was unsure at first whether Harry was choking or laughing. 

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry sputtered. 

“What? It’s a compliment,” he said, a bit defencively. 

“I’m very flattered,” Harry said, and Louis huffed. Harry threw his hoodie at him, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him to his feet. “Back to the books.” 

“What about your nap?” he said, letting himself be led across the road to the tea shop. He probably shouldn’t risk his job to watch Harry sleep in a field, but his boss knew him well enough that she wouldn’t fire him for it or even really be surprised. 

“I’ll nap after I finish my essay,” Harry said. 

They resumed their spots at the table, Harry highlighting his essay notes in what seemed to be a very scientific colour-coded system involving underlining and asterisks. Louis stole his pink highlighter and drew a wobbly heart on his forearm. “You have girly handwriting.” 

“It isn’t _girly_ ,” Harry said, affronted, “Just because it’s not chicken scratch like yours!” 

“Don’t get wound up. I’m well jel of your divine penmanship, Harriette,” he said. 

“You should be, _Louise_ ,” Harry retorted. “And don’t tell me you watch that shit, because I’m definitely not going to be your viewing buddy for that.” 

“Nah, it’s banned at our place. Niall hates all things TOWIE with a passion,” Louis said. “And considering the sort of tripe he watches, that says a lot.” 

Harry’s mouth twitched in a fleeting half-smile and he went back to his notes. 

Louis drew an orange penis on the corner of Harry’s notes, but got no reaction. He jutted his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout and reluctantly focused on his coursework. He ended up being rather productive with Harry refusing to be distracted, and was nearly finished when the first customer in hours came in. 

“Sundays are good because they’re slow, but then I get stuck doing inventory and shit,” Louis said, as he repacked his messenger bag once the woman left with her mint green tea. “Feel free to stay, though. Want a muffin? The lemon poppyseed’s quite good.” 

“Sure,” Harry said. “How long till you’re off?” 

“Couple hours,” Louis said. “You planning to stick around? We could pick up some take-away on the way home and watch a DVD. Unless you need your beauty sleep?” 

“I think I can swing it,” Harry smiled. “We haven’t had a night in since Monday.” 

Louis looked at the muffin he was putting on a plate so that he wouldn’t have to meet Harry’s eyes. “Figured you were bored of it.” 

“Bored of sofa-surfing with my favourite neighbour? It’s the highlight of my existence,” Harry said playfully, and Louis bit his lip to keep from grinning. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, dropping the plate on the table with a clink. “Now finish your essay so you can help me refill the dispensers.” 

“Oi, is that why you want me here? Free labour?” Harry said. “And here I thought it was my witty conversation.” 

“You can talk to me while you do it,” Louis assured him. “And what do you mean, free labour? I’ve paid you upfront with pastries.” 

Harry took a big bite of the muffin. “A beverage as well, yeah?” 

“More milk?” Louis said. 

“A tea, I s’pose,” Harry said, smirking when Louis’ face lit up. “Well, if it’s an acquired taste—” 

“—let’s get you on acquiring it!” Louis finished happily. 

“It’ll save money, switching to tea. I can just come in here and mooch off you,” Harry joked. 

“Work for pay; I’ll have no freeloaders on my watch,” Louis said sternly, and set about brewing another perfect cup. 

* 

A week of reality television and revision sessions passed. They rode the bus together on Friday morning; Louis pinching Harry’s cheeks for good luck as they parted, Harry slapping him away half-heartedly. They’d taken to texting incessantly throughout their days, so when Harry stopped responding, Louis figured he was putting some finishing touches on his essay. He didn’t stop his deluge of nonsense, though, knowing Harry wouldn’t mind. Sure enough, after forty minutes of silence, he received: 

_just turned in my essay. came out well, I think :)_

and 

_reading all ur texts now… haha ur crazy!! .x_

Louis smiled as he typed: 

_bet u aced it! we should celebrate.. nialls working tonite. good burgers at the pub to. promise I wont disappear on u this time x_

Despite that “highlight of my existence” joke, Louis knew that Harry didn’t enjoy their nights in as much as he did. He’d been perfectly satisfied during the two weeks they’d spent cooped up in his flat, watching mindless telly and playing video games, but Harry obviously hadn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so intent on going out and spending time with others. Which was fine; it wasn’t like Louis was some anti-social troll. Harry was eighteen and more interested in partying than settling down; it was completely understandable. 

_masterchef vs. burger and a pint w/u and niall… the choice is clear :) meet u there after work? is 7 good?_

The mention of the television show made Louis confident he’d made the right move by suggesting the pub instead. He was a bit put out that he wouldn’t know who got eliminated, but he could always watch it online later. It was worth it. He enjoyed Harry’s companionship and didn’t want to lose it by being boring. 

* 

Louis got to the pub first and found a very cheerful Niall. The girl from his Political Analysis lecture that he’d been flirting with all term had said she and her cousin would come by later. He was in such a good mood that he’d served Louis a free pint and tuned the pub’s television to BBC1 without even being asked. “Why are you so happy? You can hardly get very far with her cousin along, can you?” 

“Nah, he won’t care,” Niall said, undeterred. “I've met him before. I think he’s more interested in finding a man for himself than who she’s snogging.” 

“What’s he look like?” Louis asked automatically. 

“Thought you swore off casual sex?” Niall ribbed. 

“I’ll wear a cummerbund while he blows me,” Louis said, before waving away the notion. “No, but you know, it doesn’t get much more tragically single than me at the moment. Any potential boyfriends need to be sent my way.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t really think he’s your type,” Niall said. “He’s short and a bit podgy.” 

“Say no more,” Louis said. 

Niall laughed. “He’s got a good personality, though.” 

“Why should I have to pick one or the other?” Louis reasoned. “But if you need me and Harry to distract him while you prey on his innocent cousin, send him our way.” 

“May take you up on that,” Niall said. “And let me guess what you’ll expect in return?” 

“You know it,” Louis said, taking a long sip of his beer demonstratively. 

* 

Harry arrived with tiny white blossoms scattered in his curls. It wasn’t that Louis wasn’t tempted to ask about the phenomena because he was, constantly, but he enjoyed the mystery too much to let curiosity ruin it. It was just another facet of Harry’s charm (as if he needed more), the inexplicable flowers in his hair. There was no pattern to it – some days they were there and other days they weren’t. They were pink or purple or white or yellow or red. Sometimes when Harry went home for the night, Louis would find them fallen on the sofa. He had a small but embarrassing collection of withered Harry’s Hair Flowers hidden in his bedside table drawer. 

They ordered burgers and split a plate of chips and watched _MasterChef_ with closed captioning turned on so they could follow it despite the din of the pub. Once the show finished, Niall turned the television off and drifted over to chat with them when he could. They had a particularly filthy Hangman tournament, replete with anatomically-correct stick-people. It ended in conflict and scandal, Harry accusing Louis of cheating and Louis insisting that he was simply a terrible speller. There was a lot of shouting and written slurs, until Niall came over and told them to stop wasting napkins. 

“Oh, by the way,” Harry said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a folded flyer. He spread it out on the bar for Louis and Niall to read: a list of band names that Louis had never heard of, some crude and some random, along with a time and place. “My mate’s band is coming to town. He can put us on the list, if you guys are interested? I don’t know if you like punk…” 

Louis looked up and saw that Harry was addressing Niall. “Not really my thing,” Niall admitted, “but I’m always up for live music. Count me in.” 

“Me too,” Louis said, returning the smile Harry gave him. He was pretty excited at the prospect of seeing Harry in his element. 

Niall walked off, presumably to tend to actual paying customers, and Louis studied the flyer. “Which band is your mate’s?” 

“This one,” Harry said, pointing to the words _White Eskimo_. “I’m friends with all of them, but the lead singer is my oldest mate.” 

“Oldest?” Louis said warily. 

Harry pinched his side, making Louis yelp, and clarified, “Best mates since we were kids. You’ll like him.” 

Louis hummed. “You’d like my best mate, too. We should plan a holiday or something, all of us, so you can meet. Do you like to ski?” 

“Never tried it,” Harry said, but he was smiling widely, his dimples in full force. 

“You’ve got to, mate! My uncle’s got a cabin; he lets us use it as long as we pay for anything we break,” Louis said. “We can invite your friend along, too. Provided he doesn’t end up hating me.” 

“Who could hate you?” Harry said, eyes wide and earnest, and Louis felt in that moment such intense affection that he couldn’t hold back. 

“Love you, mate,” he said bluntly. He knew it was ridiculous to say that after only knowing Harry a few weeks, but it was ridiculous to mean it as well, and that didn’t make it any less true. 

Harry seemed a bit ruffled by the admission, his eyes darting across the bar. “Are, uh, those your friends?” 

Louis followed his line of sight and saw Niall laughing with whom he assumed was the girl and her cousin. “Never met them. They’re his friends.” 

“Should we say hi?” Harry asked. 

Louis knew he should abide by Harry’s desire to mingle, but he’d never been an especially accommodating lad. “The bird’s taken and the fatty’s straight,” he fibbed. 

“That’s – not what I meant,” Harry said, his expression half-appalled, half-trying not to laugh. His phone buzzed and he checked it before sending off a quick text. “What time do you think we’ll head home?” 

Louis rolled his eyes and reached for his wallet, sliding some money under his pint glass to cover their meal. “Now’s fine.” 

“I didn’t mean—” Harry said hastily. 

“It’s fine,” Louis cut in. “I have a paper to work on, anyway.” 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Harry said, putting some money under his own glass. 

“Wasn’t sure I’d bother doing it,” Louis said, leading the way out of the pub, waving goodbye to Niall. 

They were only a few yards off in the direction of the bus stand when Harry said, “Shit, I left my phone. Be right back.” 

Louis waited impatiently, arms crossed and foot tapping. He very much wanted to leave on his own, but knew that wasn’t an option. He tried to feel more resentful than embarrassed when he realised that their night had essentially consisted of the two of them watching telly alone, albeit in a pub and with occasional interaction with Niall. He should’ve scouted the pub for people to join them; he should’ve said yes when Harry wanted to talk to Niall’s friends. Instead, he’d done exactly what he’d been trying to avoid: bored Harry. 

He came back with his head down, busy texting, and Louis was grateful for the reprieve as they walked in silence to the bus stand. Harry looked perturbed, antsy, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “What?” Louis said eventually. 

Harry shook his head, shrugged, and attended to his steadily buzzing phone. Louis stared out the window for the remainder of the ride, and sent a few texts to random friends so he wouldn’t be the loser whose phone never buzzed. There was an unaccountable tension in the air as they alighted and made their way to the building, and they were nearly to the entrance when Louis noticed a familiar black car. He said nothing, but was glad not to be caught unawares when they got upstairs and Caroline was standing by Harry’s door with a pillow tucked under her arm. 

“Hi, Louis,” she greeted him amiably. “Y’alright?” 

He smiled cursorily. “Yeah, good. You?” 

“About to be a lot better,” she grinned. 

“Right,” he said flatly; she was obviously not one for subtlety. He unlocked his door and made himself say, “G’night.” When only she answered, he looked at Harry. “Night.” 

Harry hesitated before saying, “G’night.” 

Louis was careful not to slam his door shut behind him, but once safely in his own bed, he let all the emotions of the night settle over him. The doubt, the bitterness, the longing, and the confusing-as-all-hell warmth. He didn’t doubt that Harry reciprocated his affection; he didn’t doubt that Harry liked being around him. He didn’t even really doubt that he could be in Harry’s bed some nights, if he were willing to accept that someone else would be there when he wasn’t. He just wished he could come to terms with the fact that he would never get what he wanted from Harry; that Harry just wasn’t that guy. He wished he could find someone better suited to him, who would help take his mind off things that could never happen. He wished… he thought of the garbled, drunken text he’d read that morning, and laughed ruefully. He wished a lot of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves comments - I really love hearing from y'all :) Some have said their friends recommended them this fic, so thanks to everyone rec'ing, that's really nice of you. Thanks for the kudos, too!
> 
> A few people have asked about finding me elsewhere. I'm on tumblr (mcpofife.tumblr.com). I make fic update posts. I'm also on livejournal (as mcpofife. so creative~). I don't post there much besides fic and the occasional fandom nonsense.


	5. Chapter 5

Louis hated working the morning shift at the tea shop, and could usually persuade his coworkers to cover them, but occasionally he had to take his lumps. He skipped a shower in favour of sleeping as late as possible, pulled a beanie over his hair rather than styling it, and accidentally put on a dirty shirt. He only realised it as he was outside his front door, and hesitated with the key in the lock, debating whether to change. He was in the process of sniffing the shirt to make sure it didn’t smell, when Harry’s door opened and Caroline stepped out. 

“Morning!” she said sunnily, a huge grin on her face. She was in the same clothes as the night before, her hair pulled into a ponytail, but her make-up was immaculate. As a firm believer in making the best of a bad situation, Louis admired her effort. 

“Morning,” he said, locking his door. 

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” she said, and before he could decline, Harry bustled out into the corridor, handing her two bundles wrapped in paper napkins before locking his own door. He did a double take when he noticed Louis. 

“Hey,” Louis said, inwardly lamenting how weird it would be of him to run off down the stairs, because that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He looked a right mess, and Harry looked beautiful as always, slightly-damp curls and sleeveless shirt and tatty jeans. He didn’t usually mind looking rumpled in front of Harry, because Harry had once called Louis’ disheveled hair in the morning cute, but he didn’t want his current state of disarray being compared to Caroline’s careful grooming. 

“Hi,” Harry said, eyes flitting from Louis’ beanie to his TOMS, and Louis crossed his arms self-consciously. “You alright?” 

“Me?” Louis said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” 

He frowned as Harry exchanged a glance with Caroline. “No, nothing. It’s just early.” 

“Work,” he said by way of explanation as they headed downstairs. “What about you?” 

“Same,” said Harry. 

“I was just asking Louis if he’d like a ride,” Caroline said. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said. “I don’t mind the bus.” 

“You sure?” Harry said, squeezing past him so he could get to the door first and hold it open. 

Louis smiled and poked Harry’s stomach as he went by. “Yeah.” 

“I could ride with you if you want?” Harry offered. 

There was something oddly gentle in Harry’s tone, as if Louis were in a fragile state. He looked at Harry strangely. “Is it on your way?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said. 

“Uh…” Louis said, perplexed by the way they were eyeing him. “That’s alright. You two go ahead. See you later.” 

He picked up his pace, but Harry called, “Wait!” and jogged up to him holding one of the napkin-wrapped bundles. “Have you eaten?” 

“What’s this?” Louis said, though he could feel it was a sandwich. 

“Sausage and egg,” Harry said. 

Louis wavered, not really wanting any of Caroline’s cooking, but hunger won out. “Thanks.” 

“I’m having a little mixer tonight, if you’re feeling up to it,” she said. “The gang from the other weekend will be there, so you’ll know some people, and Harry, of course.” 

“Okay,” Louis said slowly, confused by the sympathy in her voice. “Maybe, yeah. Thanks. Bye.” 

“I’m going with him,” Harry told her. 

“Do you have time?” Louis said, and could tell by Harry’s face that he didn’t. “Go on, I don’t mind. I can handle riding the bus on my own, been doing it since I hit primary school.” 

Harry rearranged his fringe. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Call me,” Louis said. 

“No, in person,” Harry said. 

Louis would miss his bus if he didn’t hurry. “I’ll meet you at Caroline’s mixer, then, yeah? We can talk there. Text me the details.” 

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, so Louis grabbed him by the shoulder and leaned up on his toes to peck his cheek, waving at Caroline as he ran off, calling, “To be continued!” 

* 

The sandwich, Louis had to admit, was delicious. He could see why Harry kept her around if she could cook like that. After he finished it, he wiped his hands on his trousers and texted Harry. 

_soz mate was in a rush. wot u need to talk abt? u ok?_

Within seconds, he got a reply: 

_I’m ok. u?_

Louis wanted to ask why the fuck he and Caroline had been acting so bizarre, but maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe they just felt sorry for him because he was so pathetically single. Maybe Harry had told her how they’d sat in the pub last night watching reality telly, and she’d invited him to her mixer so he wouldn’t spend another night on his sofa. 

_rather be sleeping but other then that I’m great :)_

It took a while for Harry to respond. 

_glad to hear it lou hope u have a rly good day at work. love u mate .x_

His heart thumped. He’d been a little worried that he’d freaked Harry out when he’d said that to him at the pub, and he was glad to be wrong. Louis liked intimacy, romantic or platonic; he enjoyed letting the people he cared about know how much they meant to him. He told his mum and sisters he loved them all the time, told Liam and Niall and Stan. He had a lot of feelings when it came to Harry, some that were hard to define, but certainly love was one of them. 

_love u to curly :) text me caroline’s addy when u get a mo. x_

* 

He didn’t give much thought to what Harry wanted to talk about. It could be anything, really, but it probably wasn’t anything serious. Their steady stream of text messages were as silly as ever; Harry didn’t seem upset. As soon as he was off work, Louis went home and napped for a couple of hours. Then he showered and took his time getting dressed. Liam and Zayn came out of what Louis had begun to think of as “their” bedroom and invited him to dinner. 

“What are you all dressed up for?” Zayn asked, once they were on the bus on the way to TGI Friday's. 

“I’m not dressed up,” Louis denied. “I’m going to a mixer at Caroline’s place.” 

“Harry’s Caroline?” Zayn said. 

Louis sneered a bit at that terminology. “Guess so, yeah.” 

“She’s been around a lot lately. What’s up with that?” Zayn said. 

“I really wouldn’t know,” Louis said stiffly. 

“Yeah, he’s pretty secretive about that kind of shit,” Zayn said. 

“What’s the story with her, anyway? How old is she?” Louis said. 

“Let me think. He was sixteen when they met; she was… thirty-one?” Zayn said. “So, she’s thirty-three now.” 

“What?!” Louis screeched. “That’s disgusting!” 

Zayn laughed. “Yeah, it’s weird, but that’s Harry for you.” 

“What’s a bloody thirty-one year old doing hanging out with a sixteen year old, much less fucking one?” Louis said. 

“Harry’s very mature for his age!” Zayn cackled. “I think they didn’t fuck till he was seventeen, if that makes you feel better?” 

“It’s not funny; it’s disgusting! Li, don’t you think it’s disgusting?” Louis demanded. 

“Yeah,” Liam said, not looking up from playing Fruit Ninja on his phone. 

“Harry needs to find someone his own age,” Louis said crossly. “How could it ever work out between them? When he’s twenty-five, she’ll be… a hundred.” 

“Forty,” Zayn said. “But it’s not even like that.” 

“What do you mean?” he said. 

“I mean, they were never a proper couple. They were just, you know,” Zayn shrugged. 

“Fuckbuddies,” he supplied. 

“Right,” Zayn said. “It wasn’t an exclusive thing. She’s pretty cool; I don’t think she’s got a fetish for teenage boys or anything. Harry’s just…” 

“A charmer,” Louis said. 

“A charmer,” Zayn agreed. “They get on well. It was just a bit of fun between them. Then she got a boyfriend and they went back to being just friends.” 

“Well, looks like the boyfriend’s out of the picture,” Louis said. 

“Here’s our stop,” Liam said, putting his phone away. He took Zayn’s hand as they got off the bus, and Louis felt lonelier than ever. 

* 

Harry texted him halfway through dinner asking where he’d gone. He’d come home for a nap after work, too, and only just awoken. His friend was on her way to pick them up, he wrote, and offered to wait for Louis to get back or to come get him at the restaurant. Not wanting to be a bother, Louis replied: 

_u go ahead. I’ll meet u there x_

He was pretty sure he could figure out the bus route, and if not, he’d go as far as he could and then take a cab. Not going out partying every night had greatly improved his cash flow. Spending frivolously would likely be a lifelong issue for Louis, but one cab ride wouldn’t break him. 

The closest bus stand to Caroline’s building was three blocks away, and he walked slowly so he wouldn’t sweat. It was quite a posh area, which didn’t surprise him, considering her expensive car. What he hadn’t foreseen was the doorman in the lobby who requested the name of the resident he was visiting. “Uh, Caroline?” he tried. “Leggy blonde? Her face isn’t her best feature?” 

“Sir, I’m sorry, I need the surname,” the doorman said. 

“Alright, one minute,” Louis said, stepping aside and pulling out his phone to text Harry. 

He didn’t look up when he someone else entered the building, but he did when he heard, “I’m here for Caroline Flack.” 

It was a very tall, handsome man. Louis said, “Pardon me.” 

The man turned to look at him, and the spark of interest in his eyes was unmistakable. “Yes?” 

“Are you here for the mixer?” Louis said. 

“Yeah,” the man smiled. “You, too?” 

Louis nodded and told the doorman, “I’m here for Caroline Flack as well.” 

The doorman directed them to the lifts, but the man seemed familiar with the building. He let Louis go in first, and pressed the button for the fifth floor before holding out his hand. “I’m Greg, by the way.” 

“Louis,” he replied, shaking it firmly. This man, this Greg, was just his type. Tall, broad-shouldered, and cute. His shirt was buttoned all the way to the top, just like Louis’, and his trainers looked brand new. “So how do you know Caroline?” 

“Met her through Grimmy,” Greg said, and at Louis’ shrug, added, “My co-worker, Nick Grimshaw.” 

“Nick the DJ?” Louis said. “You work in radio?” 

“Yeah, I’m a DJ, or at least I try to be,” Greg said. “With varying degrees of success, depending on how much I’ve had to drink the night before. I reckon tomorrow won’t be my best show.” 

Louis laughed. “I’m sure you’re great. When do you come on?” 

“Four to seven in the afternoons, drive time,” Greg said, with a touch of pride in his voice that Louis found endearing. 

“I’ll give it a listen. Which station?” he said. 

“Radio One. And here I was hoping you might be a groupie,” Greg teased. The lift reached its destination and he let Louis exit first before leading the way to Caroline’s door. 

“Sorry I’m such a disappointment,” Louis said playfully. 

“Bite your tongue,” Greg said, opening the door rather than knocking, and again letting Louis go first. The flat was large and beautifully decorated, milling with the same kind of people that had come along to the pub with Nick – fashionable and a decade or more older than Harry. “Can I get you a drink?” 

“A beer, thanks,” Louis said, and took the opportunity of Greg walking away to check him out. He had a nice lean build – albeit not as sculpted as Harry’s. His hair had a slight wave to it, which was also nice. Not as nice as curls, but… _Stop_ , he told himself emphatically. Harry was the most beautiful person Louis had ever seen; it wasn’t fair to anyone – including himself – to draw comparisons. 

Speaking of which... he wandered further into the horde, scanning the living room. There was Harry, on the far side of the room, sitting on a crowded sofa with a woman on his lap. She looked about Caroline’s age – maybe Harry was the one with the fetish – but much more suitable when it came to style. Her lavender-tinted hair was tousled and her fishnets stocking were ripped. A lanky, tattooed man and a platinum-blond woman joined them. The man squeezed in next to Harry, and the lavender-haired woman immediately transferred onto his lap and kissed him as the platinum-haired one took her place on Harry’s. 

“Corona alright?” 

Louis found Greg by his side, and accepted the beer he was given. “Perfect, thanks.” 

“So how do you know Caroline?” Greg asked. 

“My neighbour Harry.” It felt odd to describe him like that, too formal. 

“Oh, yeah, I know Harry. Good lad. Are you meant to meet him? I hope I’m not keeping you,” Greg said. 

Louis glanced at the sofa. “Nah, he and a couple girls are playing musical chairs… with him as the chair.” 

Greg snorted. “This whole group is so incestuous; seems like everyone’s had it off with each other at some point. I don’t even try to keep track.” 

“Really?” Louis’ eyebrow arched. “Including you?” 

“Nah, they can only fantasise about my prowess; I’m the unattainable heartthrob,” Greg claimed. “Actually, I wouldn’t really classify myself as a part of the group. They’re Nick’s friends, and sometimes they invite me along, and I come if I have nothing better to do.” 

“Or no one,” Louis said slyly. 

“How dare you insult my virtue? I’m far too classy and boring for tawdry hook-ups,” Greg said. 

Louis grinned. “Well, I can’t promise I haven’t had anyone, since most of London seems to be here…” 

“Yeah, I didn’t expect so many people,” Greg said. “I think some band they’re friends with just came off tour, so this is their welcome home party, something like that?” 

“No idea,” Louis said. 

They drank their beer and Louis peppered Greg with questions about his work. Greg asked if he’d like to come by the station sometime, and Louis jumped at the chance. They exchanged phones, and he was just finishing saving his number to Greg’s contacts when Greg said, “You just got a text from Harry. Sorry, didn’t mean to read it; it popped up.” 

“It’s fine,” Louis assured him, taking his phone back to read it. He realised he’d missed an earlier text, sent shortly after he’d arrived. 

_wot time u think u’ll be here? text me when ur close and I’ll meet u in the lobby .x_

_hey lou where r u? no rush… just making sure ur not lost :)_

“He’s looking for me,” Louis said. 

“Oh…” Greg said, sounding a bit disappointed. “I should say hi to Nick, I suppose. Otherwise he’ll never believe I actually showed up.” 

“It was nice meeting you,” Louis said. “I’m sure I’ll bump into you later, if you’re staying awhile?” 

“In that case, I’m definitely staying awhile,” Greg said. 

“Later then,” Louis said with a smile, before pushing his way through the crowd. The tattooed man was gone, but Harry was still sitting with the same women. As soon as Harry saw him, he was up on his feet, pulling Louis into a one-armed hug. 

“Lou!” he said. “There you are. Did you have trouble finding it?” 

“No, I’ve been here awhile,” he said, holding up his beer as evidence. 

“You’re nearly done,” Harry noted. “I’ll get you another one. First, come meet the girl of my dreams. Lou, this is my old Lou. Lou, this is my new Lou.” 

“Watch who you’re calling old,” the lavender-haired woman said, mock-glaring, then smiled at Louis. “Nice to finally meet my replacement.” 

“No one could replace you,” Harry assured her. 

“I thought I was the girl of your dreams?” said the platinum-haired woman. 

“You’re the girl of my other dreams,” Harry said. “Lou, this is Sam. As you can see, they’re twins. One of them is the beautiful twin, and one of them is the gorgeous twin… I’ll let you figure out who’s who. Ladies, this is my stunning new best mate.” 

“Silver-tongue,” Sam accused, and told Louis, “Don’t believe a word he says! This boy could charm the skin off a snake.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Louis said. 

“Hey!” Harry whined, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “I’m being sincere. Can I help it if I adore you?” 

Louis looked at the twins for concurrence as he said, “I think it’s more that you adore everyone else, too.” 

The girls laughed, but Harry frowned. Louis elbowed him and drained the dregs of his beer. “Lighten up, Curly. Another round?” 

He stayed to chat with the twins while Harry fetched fresh beers, and he quite liked them. They were sweet and good-humoured, and when Harry came back, Sam slid onto her sister’s lap, giving Harry her spot on the sofa, and he took Louis by the wrist and tugged him down to sit on his lap. At first, Louis tried not to enjoy it too much; the way they fit together perfectly, Harry’s arm curled around Louis’ waist. It was hard not to lean back against Harry’s strong chest and play with his curls, and after a few more beers, he stopped resisting. 

People approached them and others wandered away, as the drinks flowed, he lost track of their names and faces. All that mattered was how friendly everyone was, the sound of Harry’s laughter, the way he’d squeeze him closer when Louis said something particularly clever. When someone prefaced an anecdote with, “Oh, I forgot to tell you…”, a bell rang in Louis’ head, and he turned to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Hey, what was it you wanted to talk about?” 

“Hmm?” Harry nuzzled his cheek. 

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to talk about?” he repeated. 

The hand that had been absently rubbing his thigh froze. “Maybe… yeah.” 

He twisted around to see Harry’s face. “Y’okay? What is it?” 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to ruin your night.” 

"I’m not going to be able to enjoy myself knowing you’ve got something troubling you,” Louis said. “Come on, let’s go talk.” 

Harry seemed reluctant, which Louis couldn’t understand, and his concern grew as Harry quietly led him out onto the balcony. There were a couple of smokers there, but they were on the far side and deep in their own conversation. 

“What’s wrong?” he said, when Harry just stood there looking anxious. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you.” 

“It’s not about me.” Harry took a breath, held it, and let it out in a whoosh. “It’s… Niall.” 

“Niall?” Louis said. “What do you mean?” 

“I… saw him,” Harry said, scuffing his feet. “I’m not trying to start trouble or anything. Maybe it… I mean, no. I wasn’t drunk; I know what I saw…” 

“What’d you see?” Louis said. 

After a pause, Harry said, “He was… kissing someone.” 

Louis waited for him to go on. Harry stared, as if gauging his reaction, and Louis shrugged. “Who?” 

“That girl he's friends with, the one in the pub last night… When I went back to get my phone, they were kissing,” Harry said. 

“Well, that’s great. He’s fancied her all term,” Louis said. 

“You don’t care?” Harry said incredulously. 

“I mean, I’m happy for him?” Louis said, wondering what Harry had expected. 

“But I mean… do you have an open relationship or…?” Harry said. 

”Open…?” It took Louis a minute to comprehend what he meant, and then he cracked up. “Niall and me? Oh shit, that’s priceless!” 

“What?” Harry said. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Niall – but dearly, not queerly. The thought of having sex with him… I’ll have nightmares for a week, thanks a lot. What in the world made you ever think that me and _Niall_ had something going on?” Louis cackled. 

“You live together. In one room, with one bed, which you sleep in naked…” Harry said. 

“Not naked at the same time!” Louis wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. “Oh man, that’s a good one. Haven’t laughed that hard in ages.” 

“I’m glad you find this so entertaining,” Harry said glumly. 

“Aw, sorry, babe,” Louis said, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders and kissing his cheek. “You were worried I’d be broken-hearted, huh? That’s sweet of you.” 

“So Niall _isn’t_ your boyfriend?” Harry said, like he wanted it put in no uncertain terms. 

“I haven’t got a boyfriend at the moment, but when I do, it will absolutely never be Niall. He’s too obsessed with tits to ever switch teams, and frankly, he’s not my type anyway,” Louis snickered. 

Harry brightened, and Louis thought it lovely that he'd been so upset on his behalf, and now looked over the moon. “What is your type, then?” 

“Hmm,” Louis said impishly, yanking lightly on Harry’s curls. “Handsome. Funny. Kind. Beautiful eyes, beautiful smile…” 

Harry snaked an arm around Louis’ waist. “Sounds like someone I know.” 

Louis smirked. “Let me guess, you see him in the mirror?” 

Harry blinked slowly and said, “No, I see him right now.” 

It was silly line; Harry said things like that all the time, treated flirting like a competitive sport, so Louis was embarrassed to feel himself blushing. He thumped Harry on the back of the head and stepped away. “Bet you say that to all the boys.” 

Harry made as if to grab him, but Louis spun away and laughed. “How about another beer, Casanova?” 

“You want one?” Harry said, and Louis followed him back inside. There was no easier way to distract Harry than by making a request. He was the sort who liked doing things for others; which was perfect, because Louis was the sort who liked others doing things for him. 

Greg was exiting the kitchen as they were entering it, and Louis stopped in his tracks. “Hey, there you are. Thought you were going to come bump into me?” 

Greg glanced over Louis’ shoulder. “Didn’t want to bother you.” 

“It wouldn’t have been a bother,” he said. 

“I don’t want to step on any toes…” Greg said awkwardly. 

“Whose toes?” he said. 

Greg gaze went past Louis again, and Louis turned to see Harry coming back with two beers. “Oh, no, that’s... Harry and I are just friends.” 

“Really?” Greg said, sounding hopeful. 

“Yeah, of course,” Louis said, as Harry arrived at his side and handed him a beer. “Harry, tell this good man that your toes are safe.” 

“My toes are safe,” Harry said obligingly. “Safe from what, exactly?” 

“Safe from him trampling them in his mad rush to woo me,” Louis said. “I feel like one of those tabloid starlets tonight, rumoured to be sleeping with all my friends!” 

Harry’s eyes darted between them curiously. 

“Just checking,” Greg said. 

“Right,” Harry said, and sipped his beer. 

“You know, Greg’s a DJ,” Louis said. 

“I know,” Harry said. 

“Right, of course.” Louis wasn’t sure if he was imagining the tension in the air. “He said I could come see him at work. I’ve never been to a radio station before.” 

“Yeah, it’s fun. I could take you. I visit Nick all the time,” Harry said. 

“He’s in the spare bedroom, by the way,” Greg said. “They’re doing karaoke. It’s… not pretty.” 

“I bet,” Harry chuckled, and Louis relaxed. “Wanna check it out, Lou?” 

“I need to drink a lot more before I sing anything,” Louis said. 

“That can be arranged,” Harry teased. 

“I bartended for a while in uni. I can make us some shots?” Greg offered. 

“A man of many talents!” Louis praised. “What can you make?” 

“The standards. I may have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Greg said. 

“Let’s go,” Louis said, leading the way into the kitchen. Harry trailed behind, and Louis was about to reach back and pull him along when someone called Harry’s name. 

It was Caroline. “Yeah?” Harry said. 

“Mind helping us get Olly home? He’s plastered,” she said. “Oh hey, Louis. Glad you could make it.” 

“Your flat’s lovely,” he said, and wasn’t at all surprised when Harry agreed to help. 

“You’ll be okay?” Harry checked before leaving. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Greg will keep me company.” 

“I’ve got him covered, mate,” Greg said. 

Harry told Louis, “I’ll be back soon.” 

“No worries,” he said. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of Harry leaving with Caroline, but he wouldn’t want the type of relationship they had, anyway. He wanted more than just tawdry hook-ups. He watched Greg carefully pouring ingredients into a cocktail shaker, and when he looked up from his work and smiled, Louis smiled back. 

* 

Louis was no stranger to waking up in a foreign bed. The hangover was par for the course. The warmth of the body beside him was to be expected. What threw him off was the smell. It smelled... _familiar_. He pressed his face into the pillow and inhaled. It smelled good, and clean, and… he shifted and saw a tumble of curls he’d recognise anywhere. Harry was lying on his stomach, his face turned away. His bare shoulders and arms were an exquisite stretch of defined muscles and pale skin. Still only half-awake, Louis pulled the covers down to expose more of Harry’s back. He smoothed his hand up between Harry’s shoulder blades and the back of his neck, sinking his fingers into his curls and tugging gently. Harry rolled with the movement, trapping Louis’ arm beneath him, and for a moment Louis dreamily admired how sweet Harry looked while awakening, the way his pretty eyes fluttered open, and then he realised how incredibly creepy he was being and startled to full awareness. 

Harry didn’t look creeped out, though. His lips quirked and his voice was deliciously rough when he said, “Morning.” 

Louis studied the way Harry’s curls spilled wildly across his pillow, the slight puffiness of his lips; he’d always thought beauty sleep was just a myth, until now. He glanced around the room. He’d never been inside of it before, but he’d caught glimpses, and he recognised it as Harry and Zayn’s bedroom. “I don’t even remember coming home.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry said, sitting up, and Louis did too. “Just easier to bring you here.” 

“I don’t mind. A bed’s a bed. Actually, this one’s a lot nicer than mine. Whose is it, yours or Zayn’s?” he said. 

“This one’s mine. The sofa’s a pull-out. That’s where Zayn used to sleep before he got married and abandoned me,” Harry said sarcastically. 

Louis laughed. “He’s definitely our unofficial roommate. We should start charging him rent.” 

“You hungry?” Harry said, climbing out of bed. He was in nothing but a pair of fitted boxers, and Louis had suspected how beautiful every inch of him would be, but it was still a bit overwhelming. Harry looked at him questioningly. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Louis said, getting up. He was wearing his shirt and pants, but his socks and trousers were missing. He followed Harry into the kitchen. Harry gathered various pans and utensils while Louis opened the fridge and peered inside. “What’s all this stuff?” 

Harry came up behind him to check. “What? Fruit and veg?” 

“Won’t it go bad?” Louis never bothered buying fresh produce. It was expensive, for one, and it always just spoiled in his fridge before he got around to eating it. 

“Not if you use it,” Harry said. “How about an omelette?” 

“Brilliant. Don’t suppose you have any tea?” he said. 

“We have a kettle and some instant coffee?” Harry said. 

Louis groaned. “Put on a kettle and I’ll get us some tea. I need to brush my teeth anyway.” 

“Hey, your trousers,” Harry called after him. “They’re on the floor in the bathroom.” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Louis said, unbothered. His flat was locked, so he banged on the door until Zayn opened it. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Zayn said, going back to join Liam on the sofa. “I’ll assume you slept at my flat rather than that you’ve been roaming the streets half-naked.” 

“Little of both,” Louis said, going straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth, splash some water on his face, and have a wee. He washed off his old deodorant and applied a fresh coat, but didn’t bother trying to tame his hair, even though he had a serious case of bedhead. He fetched a few bags of tea from the pantry and yelled goodbye to Liam and Zayn. 

Harry was chopping and dumping various vegetables into a pan on the stove when Louis got back. He set about preparing two mugs of tea and presented one to Harry. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry acquiesced, taking the mug and putting it aside. 

“You’ll drink it?” Louis said, taking a long sip from his own. “Don’t waste it.” 

“I’ll drink it,” Harry promised. “Go watch telly or something.” 

“Why? I wanna watch,” Louis said. “When I end up in hospital with food poisoning, I want to be able to answer the doctor’s questions.” 

“Go,” Harry repeated. 

Louis stuck out his tongue. “Make me.” 

“That’s it: out of my kitchen,” Harry said, coming over and scooping Louis into his arms like an unwilling bride. 

“My tea!” he squawked, one arm sliding around Harry's neck instinctively to keep from falling, the other extending to hold the mug as far away from himself as possible. “Put me down, you wanker!” 

Harry carried him to the sofa and deposited Louis on it gingerly. He picked up the remote and tuned the television to ESPN. “There. Footie. Now be a good boy until I bring you your food.” 

Louis grumbled but ogled Harry’s arse as he walked away. It was quite nice, really, to sit in his pants watching football with the sounds and smells of Harry cooking in the background. He sat cross-legged and savoured his tea, and before he knew it, Harry was calling him to the table. 

“Thought you were gonna bring me my food?” he said, just to be annoying. It was an impressive spread: two plates, each bearing half of a large omelette stuffed with sautéed vegetables, with thick sausages and triangles of buttered toast on the side. “Wow. This looks fantastic.” 

“You sound shocked,” Harry said. 

Louis was too busy tucking into his meal to do more than nod. It tasted as good as it looked, and he really _was_ shocked. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?” 

“It’s just an omelette,” Harry said modestly. 

“I couldn’t cook this,” Louis said. “This is amazing, really.” 

Harry shook his head, but he was smiling. 

“I can’t remember most of last night,” Louis said, spearing a sausage with his fork. “I didn’t do anything awful, did I?” 

“No, but you were shitfaced when I got back from seeing Olly home,” Harry said. “Which, by the way, was an adventure in itself. I found you and Nick dueting to Spice Girls songs.” 

“Really? I didn’t even know I knew the lyrics to any,” Louis said. 

“You don’t,” Harry snorted. “Caroline went apeshit when she saw you two wearing her designer coats.” 

“What?” Louis said. 

“Yours at least fit. Nick tore her two thousand pound Miu Miu coat,” Harry said. 

“Two thousand pounds for a coat?! Thank Christ it wasn’t me!” Louis said, aghast. 

“That was pretty much our cue to leave,” Harry said. “So we got a cab, but you weren’t ready to go home, so we went to a playground.” 

“Wait, I think I remember the seesaw,” Louis said. 

“Yeah, and we had a contest on the swings to see who could jump off and land the farthest out,” Harry said. “You nearly broke your neck.” 

“But I won!” Louis crowed. “And then we walked home, right?” 

“Yeah. You made me carry you piggyback most of the way,” Harry said. “And you kept chewing on my hair.” 

“You should’ve just left me in a shrub,” Louis said. 

“No, it was fine. It was funny,” Harry said. 

“Don’t be so nice about it, Harold. It only encourages me,” Louis cautioned. 

“Maybe I want to encourage you,” Harry said. Louis stared at him, not knowing how to respond, and Harry laughed. “You’re an entertaining drunk.” 

Louis pulled a face and finished off his toast. “I need a nap.” 

“You just woke up!” Harry said. “After this, you’re helping me with the dishes, then we’re doing our coursework.” 

“I don’t have any,” Louis lied, but at Harry’s suspicious expression, amended, “It’s not due till Tuesday!” 

“So if you do it now, you won’t have to do it tomorrow,” Harry reasoned. 

Louis had no desire to wash dishes or do coursework, but he supposed it was only fair to help clean when Harry had done all the cooking. “Then what?” 

“Then, if you’re working hard, I’ll make fajitas for dinner,” Harry said. 

“You’re going to cook for me all day?” Louis said. 

“If you work hard,” Harry maintained. 

Louis made a small noise of agreement. “Then what?” 

“Then… _X Factor_?” Harry said. “I recorded it.” 

“Can’t we do that first?” Louis said. 

Harry didn’t even bother saying no. “Actually, I need go to the launderette and grocer’s at some point.” 

“Can’t we do it tomorrow? How about coursework, _X-Factor_ , and FIFA today, grocer’s and _Great British Bake-Off_ tomorrow,” Louis bargained. “Tuesday we’ll do laundry. Wednesday to be determined.” 

For someone discussing chores, Harry looked well chuffed. 

“What?” Louis demanded. 

“You’re just planning my whole week for me, aren’t you?” Harry sighed, faux-exasperated. 

“Fine, never mind,” Louis said. “You can go by yourself. I’ll just wear dirty clothes and starve to death.” 

“I’m kidding,” Harry said, reaching for Louis’ wrist. 

“No!” Louis declared, knocking Harry’s hand away and getting up from the table to dump his dirty plate in the sink. “My blood will be on your hands. I’m not helping with the dishes, either.” 

Harry stalked toward him and Louis ran into the living room and dove onto the sofa. “Get back in the kitchen!” Harry ordered, coming after him. 

“Too late! I’m already lounging,” Louis said, stretching out. 

“Get up! Dishes, then coursework,” Harry said sternly, kneeling on the sofa and taking Louis by the elbows. 

Louis hooked his arms around Harry’s neck and yanked him down, grunting when Harry fell on top of him. “Stay,” he commanded. Harry huffed but settled into place. 

“Good boy,” Louis said, petting his curls. “Nap time.” 

He’d expected at least a token protest, but none came. Harry’s warm bare skin against his own was ridiculously cozy and wonderful, and before long, he was lulled to sleep. 

* 

Louis wasn’t the sort who subscribed to the five-day rule. If he got a phone number off a guy he was interested in, he didn’t waste any time using it. He was too impatient and his attention span was too short. So it honestly took him a minute to place the name when he got a text message on Thursday that read: 

_Hi Louis. It’s me Greg from Caroline’s small intimate affair ;) How are you?_

In truth, he was rather content. He’d just finished a tasty pasta dinner courtesy of Harry, and they were now on the sofa, half-doing coursework and half-watching _Empire Records_. They’d taken to spending their time in Harry’s flat because it was where the cookware and dinner ingredients were, and every new dish he prepared amazed Louis; it was such an unexpected skill. Who would’ve imagined Harry, with his tattoos and his studded leather wrist-cuff, blasting punk rock music while deftly manoeuvring the kitchen, stirring and dicing and frying like a pro? 

Louis would sit on the worktop swinging his legs, pestering him and getting in the way, and after he ate, he’d find a flimsy excuse to flounce off without helping with the dishes, and sprawl out on the sofa instead. Harry always let him get away with it, and Louis made amends by letting him have whatever he liked at the tea shop. His boss and coworkers were enchanted by Harry, the same as anyone who crossed his path, so even when Louis wasn’t around, he had all the free tea he could drink and his pick of pastries. 

It was strange how quickly things became habit with him and Harry. Less than a week of home-cooking and Louis already felt it would be a crushing disappointment to go back to take-away and microwaved meals. A few days of snuggling on Harry’s sofa and he’d already brought over all his favourite video games. They were both tactile by nature, but as if some unseen barrier had been removed, Harry seemed to always be touching him lately. Not that Louis minded at all; he enjoyed roughhousing and had wanted to pet Harry since the moment they met. It was just that now Harry didn’t hesitate to pull Louis close on the sofa and embrace him like a friendly octopus, or push his head under Louis’ hand when he wanted his hair played with, or slouch against Louis on the bus and nuzzle his neck. 

It felt wholly inadequate to answer Greg with a simple: 

_good. u?_

He balanced his phone on his knee, and a few seconds later, it buzzed again. 

_Likewise :) What are your weekend plans? Fancy a night out with a charming DJ?_

Louis smiled. 

_sure, but I heard nick’s busy?_

He snickered quietly when Greg responded: 

_You wound me! Well, if you’re willing to settle, I might be able to squeeze a date into my busy schedule._

A date. It had been a long time since he’d gone on a proper one. His expression must’ve given something away, because Harry suddenly said, “Who’s that?” 

Louis glanced over. “Hmm?” 

“Who’s that?” Harry said again, craning to read the screen. 

Louis tilted his phone to hide it. “Greg.” 

“Greg... Nick's friend?” Harry said, trying to tilt it back. 

Louis flicked Harry’s hand away. “Yeah.” 

“What does he want?” Harry said. “How’d he even get your number?” 

“I gave it to him at Caroline’s party,” Louis said. “He wants to go out this weekend.” 

Harry was quiet for a beat, then said, “Alright. Nick’s always got something going on; I could ask him—” 

“No, I think he means just me and him,” Louis interrupted. 

“What, like… a date?” Harry said, clearly taken aback. 

“Yeah,” Louis said, a bit offended. “Why is that so unbelievable?” 

Harry shook his head and appeared fascinated by his own hands, clasping them and twiddling his thumbs. “It’s not. I just didn’t realise you’d been talking to him.” 

“I haven’t,” Louis said. “This is the first time since the party.” 

“Do you fancy him?” Harry said. 

“I don’t know, maybe,” Louis said. 

“He’s kind of old for you,” Harry said. 

“Mid-twenties, at most,” Louis said. “You’re one to talk, with Caroline!” 

Harry clicked his tongue dismissively. “That was nothing.” 

“Right, just using her for sex,” Louis said grimly. 

Harry laughed. “We used each other, if anything.” 

“Haven’t seen her since the party. She’s not angry about the coat?” he checked. 

“No, I told you, yours was fine. Nick replaced the other one, I think, or he’s going to, anyway,” Harry said. “She’s just busy or whatever. Who knows?” 

“Who knows, who cares,” Louis said. “That’s lovely.” 

“I talked to her yesterday; she’s fine,” Harry said. “Don’t change the subject. Do you think he’s fit?” 

“Yeah, he’s well fit,” Louis said. 

“Really, you think so?” Harry said. “Kinda freakishly tall, innit?” 

Louis laughed. “I wouldn’t say _freakish_.” 

“Too tall for you,” Harry said. 

“I like tall,” Louis said. 

“I’m tall,” Harry said. 

“Yeah…” Louis said slowly, and then it hit him. “Harry, don’t worry. I’m not gonna be like Zayn and ditch you the minute I start seeing someone. I just, you know, can’t remember the last time I went on a date, and he’s fit, and nice, and a DJ. I could do worse.” 

Harry grunted noncommittally. 

“Come on.” Louis nudged him with his shoulder. “Mates before dates. Bros before… DJs. Why don’t we do something fun this weekend, too?” 

“Yeah?” Harry said, perking up. 

“Anything you want,” Louis vowed. 

“How about Saturday?” Harry said. “I don’t have work, do you?” 

“I’m off,” Louis smiled. “We can spend the whole day together.” 

Harry nodded happily, and shamelessly read over Louis’ shoulder as he replied: 

_I’m free on Sunday, if that works for u?_

* 

Harry dragged Louis out of bed at ten in the morning on Saturday, but softened the blow with eggs benedict. “Eat up, Louise,” he told him. “We’re having us a girls’ day out.” 

Louis got ready while Harry did the dishes, and they embarked on a few hours of shopping. Having his breakfasts and dinners provided by Harry, along with less partying, had fattened Louis’ wallet, and he could afford a mini-spree. Clothes were his weakness, so most of it was spent on that, but he picked up a little something extra while Harry was distracted in a vintage shop. Harry was very patient while accompanying Louis to his favourite shops, even though they carried absolutely nothing of interest to him. The salespeople gawked as if horrified by his Bad Brains t-shirt, cut sleeveless and sideless to expose most of his torso, and stumbled over their words when he smiled at them. 

They went to the cinema next, and Harry insisted on paying for their tickets and refreshments, saying it was only fair since he’d picked the film. Louis had wanted to see it just as much, but Harry was adamant, so he let it go. It was superhero film with plenty of action and a little romance on the side, and they left the theatre buzzing, discussing the best parts of the movie and what powers they’d like to have and which heroes could beat up which. 

“So what now, Harriette?” Louis said when they got to the bus stand. 

“Dinner,” Harry said. “What are you in the mood for?” 

“Why not go to the pub?” Louis said. “I could go for a pint and a burger.” 

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed. 

“Niall’s not working, though. We’ll have to actually pay for all our drinks,” Louis said. 

“I’ve got it covered,” Harry said. 

“No, I didn’t mean that!” Louis said. 

“It’s fine. I want to,” Harry said. 

“Harry—” he started. 

“You said anything I want,” Harry reminded him. 

“Fine, but next time, I’m paying,” Louis said, and was treated to Harry’s dimpled grin. 

* 

They started drinking before their food came, drank while eating, and kept drinking long after it was gone. Louis couldn’t stand to be bored, which was a big part of why he was so mischievous, but he never got bored with Harry. Sitting around drinking beer in a mostly-empty pub on a Saturday afternoon was somehow a great adventure with Harry by his side. They were loud and absurd and wasted drinking straws by clenching them between their fingers and having a Wolverine versus Freddy Krueger epic battle that ended when Louis accidentally-on-purpose crashed into a bunch of chairs and the bartender told them off. Luckily, they knew all the staff through Niall, so she just confiscated the straw dispenser and smacked the back of their heads rather than kick them out. 

A trio of girls came and sat at the bar, and he and Harry flirted with them just for the hell of it. It didn’t bother Louis to watch them melt in the palm of Harry’s hand. In fact, he was proud of his friend for being so charismatic. The bond between him and Harry grew stronger and meant more to him with each passing day. It wasn’t something he’d trade for a cheap lay. Besides, he had a proper date with a handsome and accomplished man tomorrow. Things were looking up for Louis; there was no need to begrudge anyone their fun. 

Harry was making effortless progress with the girls, but lost interest in them when Louis started spinning on his bar stool. Harry watched him do a full turn, then did one himself. They twirled faster and faster, racing to see who could complete the most rotations in one minute, but they couldn’t manage to time it correctly and Harry kept almost falling off, so they gave up. 

They ordered another round of pints and the bartender told them, “Look, you lousy drunks, you better pace yourselves. I’ll not have either of you getting sick in the bathroom when I’m the one who’ll have to clean it.” 

“How very dare you,” Louis said. “We’re highly sophisticated and discerning drunks. If we have to get sick, we’ll go do it in an alley like _gentlemen_.” 

“We’re fine.” Harry smiled at her, and Louis marveled at how her whole demeanour changed. 

“Alright,” she said. “But I’ve got my eyes on you.” 

“Only fair. I’ve had mine on you all day,” Harry joked, and she scoffed but swished her hips as she walked away. 

“You’re in, man,” Louis said, and Harry snickered. She was the owner’s wife, a fifty-something heavyset chainsmoker, and a surrogate mother to her mostly university-aged partrons. 

“Me and Mary had our fun, but it’s over now,” Harry said. “I don’t want to dredge up the past like that. Could get messy.” 

“Heartbreaker.” Louis tweaked his nipple. 

Harry yelped and slapped him away. “I’ve moved on,” he announced grandly. “It was for the best. She was too much woman for me.” 

“So you’re admitting you’re a very _small_ man?” Louis asked pointedly, glancing at Harry’s crotch, although he’d seen enough of Harry in boxer shorts to know that wasn’t the case. 

“Now, see, you are the ideal amount of woman, Louise,” Harry said. “I could just carry you around in my pocket.” 

“I would never strike a lady, Harriette, but I’m about to make an exception for you,” Louis threatened. 

Harry laughed and tilted his head, and for a while they just smiled at each other. Then Louis remembered, “Oh wait, I have something for you!” 

“For me?” Harry said. 

“I bought you a present,” Louis said, digging in his trouser pocket. “Now open your mouth and close your eyes and you will get a big surprise.” 

“That one rarely ends well,” Harry said, but obeyed. 

Louis’ fingers scraped against Harry’s teeth as he placed the silver Zippo lighter on his tongue. The moment he withdrew, Harry spit it out into his hand and opened his eyes. 

“Ta-da!” said Louis. 

“A lighter?” Harry said. 

“Nostalgic _and_ useful!” Louis said. 

“Why nostalgic?” Harry said, sounding pleased but puzzled. 

“Don’t you remember? The first thing you ever said to me; you asked me for a light,” Louis said. 

Harry bit his lip. “Oh yeah.” He turned the lighter around, studying it from every angle, and grinned dazzlingly. “It’s sick. Thanks, Lou.” 

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you smoke,” Louis realised. “I hope you’re not holding back for my sake? Plenty of my friends do it; I don’t mind.” 

Harry stared at him, his brow furrowed pensively, and Louis said, “Seriously, feel free.” 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sheepishly admitting, “I, uh. I don’t actually smoke.” 

“You quit?” Louis said, and watched in fascination as Harry’s cheeks flushed becomingly. 

“Uh, no. I – I never did.” 

Now it was Louis’ turn to be puzzled. “Then why did you need a light?” 

Harry fiddled with his hair, shaking it out and swooping his fringe to the side, before answering. “I… just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” 

Louis froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “What would you have done if I’d said yes?” 

“I dunno,” Harry laughed, shrugging. “I know it’s lame. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.” 

“Loser!” Louis cried, delighted. 

Harry hid his face in his hands. 

“You are such a _loser_ , oh my _god_.” Louis was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He grabbed Harry’s wrists and pulled his hands away so he could see his face, his tightly shut eyes and scrunched nose. “Harry, you’re – you’re so great.” 

Harry stuck out his tongue. 

“I mean it,” Louis said ardently. “You’re perfect. No one is better than you.” He released Harry’s wrists to cup his cheeks, and Harry opened his eyes and smiled. “So lucky to have you.” 

Harry’s face fell abruptly and he tried to turn away. 

“What’s wrong?” Louis said, confused, and petted his cheek comfortingly. “Hey, what’s wrong, Haz?” 

Harry looked at him with a blend of frustration and distress that changed to steely resolve, and he grasped Louis by the back of the neck and hauled him into a heated kiss. 

“Mmph!” Louis grunted, nearly falling off his bar stool. This was nothing like the first time they’d kissed, so long ago in Louis’ flat. These weren’t the sweet kisses of two boys who barely knew each other; Harry was holding him tightly in his arms and licking into his mouth with dark intent. 

“We can’t,” Louis gasped. 

“Don’t say no to me,” Harry said, his voice even deeper than usual, thick and seductive. 

Louis’ head was spinning but he knew he didn’t want this, didn’t want to be another notch on Harry’s bedpost. Harry’s large hands slid down to Louis’ hips and squeezed. Fire shot through his veins; he wanted nothing more than to climb into Harry’s lap and chase the sensation, and it took all of his restraint to push him away. 

“Mmm – stop, wait, wait,” Louis sputtered, trying to catch his breath. 

Harry exhaled harshly, dragged his hands over his face and raked them through his hair, and turned pleading eyes on him. “Jesus, Lou. Haven’t I waited enough?” 

“We – we’re drunk,” Louis shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t want us to make a mistake we—” 

“It doesn’t have to be a mistake,” Harry said quickly. 

Louis sighed. “Harry, I love you, and I love being with you— ” 

“I love you, too,” Harry said earnestly, taking his hands. “The two of us, don’t you – have you ever thought about it? I mean, are you… attracted to me at all?” 

Louis shook his head. “You know I think you’re beautiful.” 

The tone of his voice made Harry release his hands. Harry turned toward the bar, staring hard at the countertop. “But you don’t want me,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. 

The pleasant buzz of alcohol was wearing off fast, and being replaced by a sort of drunken despair. There’d been a time, before they’d become so close, where a night in Harry’s bed was all Louis could think about, but now he wanted so much more – a lifetime of friendship. “It’s not that I don’t think it would be _incredible_ , but we—” 

“—can’t,” Harry finished bitterly. He pulled some cash out of his pocket, threw it on the counter, and stood. 

“Where you are going?” Louis asked bewilderedly. 

“Home,” Harry said curtly, storming out of the pub. 

Louis was hot on his heels, and grabbed his arm once they were out on the pavement. “What the hell? Thought it was girls’ day out?” 

“It’s a lady’s prerogative to change her mind,” Harry said, but it was sullen instead of playful. 

Louis was flabbergasted. “Seriously? Because I won’t have it off with you? I thought I meant more to you than that.” 

Harry just shook his head in disbelief, as if he were beyond words. 

“Don’t treat me like some slag you’d pull at a club,” Louis said angrily. 

“I would _never_ do that,” Harry denied. 

“That’s exactly what you’re doing! You’re drunk and want a shag, I’m not interested, so you’re ditching me,” Louis accused. “You can’t take a night off from fucking everything that moves? We’re supposed to be best friends!” 

“Yeah, and it’s great to know what you really think of me, _mate_ ,” Harry bit out, and Louis was so shocked by his tone that he could only stand and watch, dumbfounded, as Harry walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves comments and kudos; I really appreciate the support<3 Quite a long chapter this time; I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. 
> 
> Hooray for MSG last night! I wish I'd been able to attend :3


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t that Louis didn’t want to sort things out. The first thing he did after Harry stormed off was retrieve his shopping bags from the pub and head straight home to that purpose. He’d knocked on Harry’s door for ages, even considered asking Zayn to unlock it for him, before deciding that might make things worse. He would wait until morning, when they’d be well-rested and sober, and Harry could apologise for being a twat and Louis could apologise for hurting his feelings. He didn’t want Harry thinking that Louis thought he was a slut or something. Louis was certainly no angel and not one to judge. 

Morning came and Louis knocked on his door again. He went from gentle rapping to banging and kicking, from murmuring to yelling Harry’s name, to the point where Harry obviously wasn’t home, because otherwise he’d have responded, if only to tell Louis to shut the fuck up. He thought about texting or calling, but if Harry was upset enough to not come home, it was probably best to give him time to calm down. 

He went on his date with Greg that afternoon and had a nice time. If Louis was a bit subdued, Greg didn’t seem to notice. He tried hard to concentrate on their conversation, to not check his phone for messages, to not ask, “Was Harry there?” every time Greg related an anecdote involving Nick. 

They ate at an upscale Italian restaurant, a lovely meal with multiple courses and expensive wine. There was a violinist, which was probably meant to be romantic and maybe it would’ve been if this weren’t a first date with a bloke he barely knew; instead it struck Louis as hysterical, and he tried to muffle his snickering with his cloth napkin. 

“What?” Greg asked, glancing around questioningly. 

“The violinist,” Louis said. 

“Yeah?” Greg said, as if waiting for the punchline. 

Louis shook his head and spread his napkin across his lap. “Nothing. How’s your gnocchi?” 

“It’s delicious. Would you like to try it?” Greg said. 

“Sure,” Louis said, putting down his fork and leaning forward. When Greg reached for his bread plate to serve him a small portion, Louis sat back quickly. He felt silly for assuming Greg would feed him. They were practically strangers still, and not everyone fell into easy familiarity the way Louis did. Most people didn’t, really, and needed time to adjust to Louis’ lack of boundaries. Liam had practically gone into psychogenic shock the first time Louis invaded his personal space, and after two years of living together, Niall still hated sharing food. He’d nearly forgotten that; what with all the time he’d spent with Harry lately, who didn’t bat an eye when Louis’ fingers dug into his fried rice to pick out a prawn, or he borrowed his socks without asking, or draped his legs across Harry’s lap. He seemed happy with the closeness, to reciprocate every ounce of fondness Louis felt for him, to welcome a cuddle or a slap as long as it was friendly attention. 

“Louis?” Greg asked, holding out the plate. 

He shook his head again, clearing his mind of all thoughts of Harry, determined not to ruin this date. Greg was so pleasant to be around, handsome and full of banter; an absolute catch. “Tell me more about working the BRIT Awards? That must’ve been mental.” 

“It was the backstage podium, so I got to meet all the artists after they won,” Greg said. “What would you like to know?” 

“All the dirty gossip, of course,” Louis said. 

Greg had such an exciting career, and Louis’ favourite topic with him was where he’d gone and who he’d met. Maybe he should’ve asked about Greg’s family or interests, but really, wasn’t half the point of dating a DJ being able to find out what Robbie Williams was like in person? 

* 

Louis ended up regretting not texting or calling that first day, because it made it too awkward to try on the second day when Harry still hadn’t come home, and by the third day it was totally out of the question, never mind the fourth. Day Five, Thursday, and Louis was on the sofa eating Pot Noodle and half-heartedly revising. He’d picked up some good habits from Harry, and putting more effort into his studies was one of them. 

The front door opened around eight p.m., and the first thing Niall said when he came in was, “Great craic last night, Tommo. You missed it.” 

“I had coursework due today,” Louis said. 

“Wouldn’t have stopped you before,” Niall said, slumping onto the sofa. “What ya eatin’? Liam and DJ Malik are bringing home food.” 

“Good,” Louis said. “Who’s DJ Malik?” 

“Zayn,” Niall said, like it was obvious. “He jumped up in the DJ booth last night at the club! It was crackin’!” 

“Why ‘Malik’ though, what’s that mean?” Louis said. 

“Zayn Malik?” Niall said. “DJ Malik.” 

“Oh, is it?” Louis said. At Niall’s blank look, he shrugged. “Why should I know that? It’s not like I send him things through the post; he lives next door. Not even next door; he lives here!” 

Niall was the sort who memorised the life stories of everyone he met; Louis was the opposite. It occurred to him, though, that it was strange that he didn’t know such basic information about his unofficial third roommate, and come to think of it, he didn’t know Harry’s surname either. “What about Harry?” 

“You don’t know Harry’s?” Niall asked, sounding shocked. 

“It never came up,” Louis said. “You don’t know either!” 

“Yeah, but we’re not Siamese twins like you and him,” Niall said. “Where is he anyway?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since Saturday,” Louis said. 

“Everything okay?” Niall said. Louis made a face, and Niall slung an arm around his shoulders and said, “Come on, tell your ex-boyfriend all about it.” 

Niall had gotten a huge kick out of Harry’s misconception that they were dating, and had since taken every opportunity to refer to himself as Louis’ ex-boyfriend or complain about their “break up”. Louis elbowed him and tried to smile. “We had a bit of a drunken row; it’s fine.” 

“But you haven’t spoken since?” Niall said. 

“It’s fine, really. I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis said. 

“All right,” Niall said. 

They were quiet for a minute, and then Louis blurted, “He’s angry that I don’t want to fuck him.” 

“But you _do_ want to fuck him,” Niall pointed out. “Quite a lot, as I recall. Didn’t you say you’d like to ‘suck his dick so hard that his balls fall off’?” 

“That… doesn’t sound like me,” Louis lied. “Anyway, that was before I really knew him.” 

“So, you don’t want to have casual sex anymore… but you won’t fuck a guy if you know him too well?” Niall said. “Have fun being celibate forever.” 

“You’re twisting my words,” Louis said. “I don’t want to just hook up; I want a mature relationship. And even more importantly, I don’t want to fuck up our friendship.” 

“Too late for that,” Niall said. “Once a guy makes a move, it’s already done. You either reject him and it fucks it up, or you have sex and it fucks it up. Either way, there’s no turning back. It’s just a question of whether or not you get laid while ruining your friendship.” 

“Thanks for cheering me up, mate. For a minute there, I was worried you’d say something awful,” Louis said sarcastically. 

“You know it’s true,” Niall said unapologetically. “You said you haven’t spoken since Saturday – what do you call that? A fucked up friendship.” 

Louis huffed and got up to bin the rest of his noodles. While he was in the kitchen, Zayn and Liam came home. He heard them greeting Niall, and went out to reclaim his spot on the sofa. Niall said, “Hey, Zayn’ll know Harry’s surname. Ask him.” 

Louis shook his head, embarrassed he didn’t know it already and not wanting Zayn to tell Harry he’d been talking about him. Zayn didn’t strike him as much of a gossip, nor Harry, but he didn’t want to risk it. Niall rolled his eyes and said, “Hey, Zayn. What’s Harry’s—” and Louis slapped his hand over Niall’s mouth before he could finish. 

“Eh?” Zayn looked up from the cartons of Chinese take-away he was opening. “He’s been kipping at his mate’s place. He’ll be back tomorrow, though. He’s got some guy coming to stay with him.” When they looked at him blankly, he checked, “You said ‘where’s Harry’?” 

“What guy?” Louis couldn’t help asking. 

“Some band he’s friends with has a gig here on Saturday. One of ‘em’s coming up a day early,” Zayn said. 

“Oh yeah, that punk show,” Niall said. “You going to that? Me and Louis’s going.” 

Zayn and Liam exchanged a glance. “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

“You went out last night, now it’s back into hibernation?” Niall teased. 

Zayn laughed and passed out cartons of sticky rice. “We’ll see.” 

Louis sniffed his rice and stayed quiet, wondering if he would still be expected to go to the show; if Harry still wanted to introduce him to his friends. He supposed he’d find out tomorrow. 

* 

When Louis got home from work the next day, he could hear the music blasting from Harry’s flat from halfway down the corridor. He let himself into his own flat, shutting the door firmly, wanting Harry to hear it. Harry knew that turning his speakers up that loud would make his music audible from inside Louis’ flat. Did he want Louis to hear and know he was back? Did he want him to go say something? If not, then Louis didn’t want to seem like he was being an arsehole about the noise. He sat on his sofa to deliberate and his gaze settled on his PlayStation. Oh! He still had a bunch of video games over at Harry’s. 

Armed with an excuse, he went and knocked on Harry’s door. He smoothed down his t-shirt and his fringe nervously, mentally preparing himself for Harry looking less than thrilled to see him, and was caught off guard when a stranger opened the door. “Oh.” 

He was tattooed and pierced, wearing only a pair of ripped jeans, a cigarette tucked behind one ear. “Yeah?” 

“Uh, sorry, is Harry in?” Louis said. 

“Naw, mate, he won’t be home for a while.” The guy seemed friendly enough, despite his tough exterior. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just… come back later,” Louis said. 

“No need for that,” the guys said, opening the door further. “You can wait here if you like.” 

Louis took a step back. “No, it’s fine. I live next door, so—” 

“Shit, it wasn’t the music, was it?” the guy said, hurrying to the stereo to turn it down. “He told me to not to play it too loud, but Zayn said no one was home over there. I guess that was a couple hours ago, though.” 

“It’s fine,” Louis said again. “It wasn’t that. I just wanted to say hi.” 

“Well, sit and chill,” the guys said, coming back with an outstretched hand. “I’m Will, by the way.” 

“Louis,” he said, shaking it. He shrugged a bit, giving in to his own curiosity, closing the door behind him and following Will to the sofa. 

“You like FIFA?” Will said, handing him a video game controller. 

“Yeah, love it,” Louis said, not bothering to mention that it was his copy of the game. 

“So Louis,” Will said. “You’re coming to the gig on Saturday, right? Harry said you and Niall were coming. Niall the Irishman.” 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at the descriptor and wondering what terms Harry had used to describe Louis. 

“You like punk?” Will said, eyeing Louis’ clothes like he already knew the answer. 

“Not much,” he admitted. “But I’ve heard some from Harry and it’s alright. I love live music, but this’ll be my first punk show. Should be interesting.” 

“I’ll say,” Will smirked. “Don’t worry, we won’t let anything bad happen to you.” 

“What do you mean?” Louis said. 

“You know, like, we won’t let anyone smash a bottle over your head or cut your dick off,” Will said. “Punk show shit.” 

“Fuck off,” Louis laughed. 

“Okay, I’m fucking with you.” Will grinned, but said, “It can get out of hand sometimes, but Harry will take of you.” 

Louis looked down at his controller, pressing random buttons, a bit embarrassed by the insinuation that he’d need protection, and that Harry would provide it. “So, Zayn said you came up early. Any particular reason?” 

“This,” he said, pointing to a raw-looking tattoo on his stomach, a crude skull with snakes coming out of the eye sockets. “Our friend said he’d hook me up cheap. But Haydn, he’s the guitarist; he’s been here for a few days already, shacking up with some bird in Camden. Harry was out there catching up with him a couple nights ago.” 

Louis nodded and turned his attention to the television screen, setting up a two-player game. “You – oh, I don’t think they smoke in here,” he said, when he noticed Will reaching for the cigarette behind his ear. 

“It’s not tobacco,” Will said, and now that Louis could see it better, it looked distinctly hand-rolled. “You smoke?” 

Louis had tried pot before, but he was more of a drinker. It had been a while since he’d partaken, but he figured what the hell. “Sure.” 

Somewhere between finishing the first joint and smoking a second one, they moved from the living room to Harry’s bed, which they sat on cross-legged, watching _Adventure Time_ on the television mounted on the wall, the windows open to air out the flat. They’d ordered pizza, not without difficulty, resorting to asking the girl on the phone to choose the toppings for them because they couldn’t decide, along with chicken strips and nachos and Coca-Cola. Food cartons were placed between them on the bed, mostly-empty, and Louis was chugging straight from the litre bottle. 

“Careful,” Will said. 

Louis scrunched his nose dismissively and kept drinking. Will stacked up the food cartons and got off the bed to put them away, the mattress shifting under his weight, and Louis ended up spilling down the front of his shirt. “That was your fault,” he said. 

“I hate to say I told you so…” Will said. 

“Then don’t,” Louis suggested, and Will laughed and went to put away their leftovers. He was easy to get along with, like all of Harry’s friends so far, and the pot had only helped loosen Louis up even more. He felt silly and carefree, something he hadn’t been since his fight with Harry. He closed the bottle and scooted off the bed carefully with it, setting it on the bedside table. He stripped off his shirt and used it to wipe down his chest as he made his way back into the living room. He saw the video game was still frozen where they’d paused it when the food had arrived. “Hey, wanna finish this?” 

“What?” Will said. 

“You ready for round two?” Louis said, just as the front door opened. 

There stood Harry, surprise and confusion flashing over his face as he took in the scene before him, his eyes scanning Louis’ bare chest before cutting sharply toward Will. 

“Hey, mate,” Will said, nonplussed. “There’s pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.” 

“Have you been smoking in here?” Harry asked sternly. 

“Yeah?” Will said. “Was I not supposed to?” 

Harry darted a look at Louis, and sounded a bit strained when he said, “No… it’s cool. What kind of pizza?” 

“I don’t know, one of the specialties. It’s good,” Will said, as Harry brushed past him and into the kitchen. “Hey, we’ve got FIFA going, you want to play winner?” 

Louis couldn’t hear Harry’s reply, but Will shrugged and joined him on the sofa. “I’m gonna,” Louis said, gesturing toward the kitchen by way of explanation, standing just as Will sat. 

“Do I have time to play my solo game?” Will said. 

“Go for it,” Louis told him. He entered the kitchen hesitantly, leaning against the wall and watching Harry heat up a plate of pizza and chicken strips. He cleared his throat, and Harry glanced over his shoulder at him. “Hi.” 

Harry turned away again. “Hi.” 

“So…” Louis had things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t remember any of them at the moment. Eating had helped him downgrade from completely stoned to just really high, but he was definitely still feeling the effects of smoking. “Um… hi.” 

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Harry said, but there was the barest hint of teasing in his tone, and Louis clung to it hopefully. 

“No,” he said, and when Harry took his food out of the microwave and sat at the table, Louis sat across from him. “What do you want me to say?” 

“You could start by telling me why you’re in my flat half-naked,” Harry said. 

“Try to be more optimistic; I’m half-dressed,” Louis countered, hoping for a laugh. 

“That _was_ me being optimistic,” Harry retorted, smiling, and Louis felt something inside of himself relax. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Harry ducked his head, eyes on his pizza as he picked off the olives. He shook his head, finally saying, “For what?” 

“For making you angry?” Louis tried. “For saying you fuck a lot of people, or whatever. That’s none of my business and it doesn’t make me think less of you. God knows I had my fair share of fun when I was your age—” 

“Please stop talking like you’re ten years older than me,” Harry interrupted. “We’re two years apart, Louis. That’s hardly anything.” 

“More than you think,” he said, and sighed when he saw Harry’s expression harden. “Sorry, please, I don’t want to fight with you. Can we just pretend the whole mess never happened, so you can stop avoiding me?” 

“You don’t have to keep apologising. I shouldn’t have – kissed you, when you’d already made it clear you didn’t want that with me, that first night in your flat,” Harry said. 

“Right,” Louis said, remembering the first time they’d kissed, tipsy strangers on his sofa. His resolve had been so firm back then, and he hadn’t at all foreseen how much Harry would come to mean to him. 

“Right,” Harry echoed stiffly. “I wasn’t avoiding you.” 

“Yes, you were,” Louis said. 

Harry’s lips quirked in a wry half-smile. “Maybe a little bit. But I’ve had mates in town, too.” 

“Busy boy,” Louis said. 

“Heard you’ve been busy yourself,” Harry muttered, starting in on a slice of pizza. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, and waited impatiently for Harry to chew and swallow. 

“You and Greg,” Harry said simply. “Heard that’s going well.” 

Louis smoothed his fringe to the side. He hadn’t told anyone much about Greg, so he couldn’t imagine who’d said anything. “Where’d you hear that?” 

“Little bird,” Harry said. Louis raised an eyebrow and Harry snickered. “Nick. He says Greg’s glued to his phone lately, texting you.” 

“He exaggerates,” Louis said uncomfortably. He and Greg had been exchanging texts, but it wasn’t anything over the top. He and Harry texted twice as much – or had, before their fight. 

“It’s okay if you fancy him. You don’t have to pretend you don’t just to spare my little heart,” Harry said lightly. 

“Geek,” Louis laughed, kicking him under the table. Harry caught Louis’ foot between his own and they grinned at each other. “More like spare your big ego.” 

“Exactly. The mere thought that anyone could turn _me_ down,” Harry said, playfully incredulous. “What mortal man could resist all four of my nipples?” 

“Do you really? Four?” Louis said, pulling his foot back so he could lean over to see when Harry lifted his shirt to show him. “I thought those were just weird moles.” 

“Oh thanks,” Harry said. “Nope, they’re my glorious udders. I’m pretty sure I ate my twin in utero, and—” 

“—you got full before you could finish the nips,” Louis said. 

“Right,” Harry agreed. 

“Maybe you kept them for souvenirs,” he said. 

“Badges of honour,” Harry said. “I defeated my evil twin.” 

“Imagine if there were two of you, oh god…” Louis said. 

“The world can hardly handle one of me,” Harry preened. 

“If there were two, I might have to give it a go,” Louis said. “Handling…” 

Harry barked a laugh and clapped his hand over his mouth. “You perv,” he accused. 

“Hey, I’ll try anything once. I’ve never had twins, have you?” Louis said. 

Harry’s cheeks flushed and his eyes lit up, the way they did whenever a particularly naughty subject arose, making him look like a mischievous schoolboy. “No. Almost, I guess. This pair I met at a party once, I kind of felt like they might be up for it… They invited me back to their flat with them… I chickened out.” 

“Loser!” Louis admonished. “How could you surrender the dream like that?” 

“I was fifteen! I’d barely got my dick wet at that age, and it was probably wishful thinking on my part, anyway,” he said. 

“Fifteen and getting picked up by twins old enough to have their own flat? You were a prodigy,” Louis said, impressed. “Hot little number you must’ve been, with your perky little fifteen-year-old nipples.” 

“God no, my awkward years were about as awkward as they get. I had a full-body layer of baby fat and couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair,” Harry claimed. 

“I don’t believe you,” Louis said. 

“I was a monster,” Harry maintained. 

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Louis said. 

“Uh, never. I will burn every photo album in my mum’s house before you ever lay eyes on them,” Harry said. “What about you? How were you at fifteen?” 

“I was fucking gorgeous,” Louis said. “I had the body of Brad Pitt in _Fight Club_ and the face of Leonardo DiCaprio in _Titanic_.” 

“Mhm.” Harry smirked around a mouthful of pizza. 

“And the wings of an eagle, and I could breathe underwater,” Louis continued. “But then I turned eighteen and my gills closed up and my wings fell off… Sad thing, puberty.” 

“At least you managed to maintain your bodybuilder physique,” Harry said. 

“Oi, dare you mock me?” Louis said, flexing a bicep. “Feast your eyes, lad.” 

Harry eyes bugged in a show of admiration. “Wow, hope you have a permit for those guns?” 

“Military-grade uzis,” Louis said, giving his bicep a slap. 

“Pretty impressive for someone who hates exercise so much,” Harry said. 

“I get plenty of exercise!” Louis protested. “Just because I don’t want to go train with you, because that’s fucking _boring_. I prefer sport. I’ll have you know I played football all through school, straight through college. Only reason I stopped was because of schedule conflicts in uni.” 

“I played football when I was young, but I quit after primary. Still went to a couple matches in secondary school, though, to cheer on my mates,” Harry said. “I would’ve gone to cheer you on, if I’d known you back then,” 

“I would’ve liked that, you as my little cheerleader on the sidelines,” Louis said. “Shaking your pom-poms for me.” 

“And I would’ve liked to see you in your uniform,” Harry said. “Any chance you kept it?” 

“And _I’m_ the perv?” Louis said. 

“You want me in a cheerleader’s uniform!” Harry said. 

“With your twin in a schoolgirl uniform,” Louis said. 

Someone cleared his throat, and they both turned to find Will standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “Hey, not to eavesdrop, but… _what the fuck_ are you guys talking about?” 

Harry and Louis laughed hard and loud at that. Their own little world with weird conversations that confused the hell out of everyone around them; it was nice to have that back. Will grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the table with them, began telling Harry about the phone call he’d just had with the other members of White Eskimo, about when they planned to arrive in the morning. Harry ate his pizza and nodded along, but he kept sneaking glances at Louis. And Louis, for his part, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Harry. He was unaccountably fascinating, every little thing he did, and it was ridiculous how much he’d missed just _seeing_ Harry, and what a relief it was to be together again. 

* 

They stayed up late smoking pot and playing video games. It was past three in the morning when Will threw down his game controller, said, “Right. I’m knackered. See you tomorrow, Lou,” and went into Harry’s bedroom. 

It wasn’t weird that they would share a bed. Louis had shared Harry’s bed before, but it caught him off guard somehow, to know that they would be sleeping together. Not _sleeping together_ , because Will seemed firmly straight, but… 

“Didn’t realise it was so late,” Harry said. “Um, you can stay, if you want?” 

“What, and sleep on the sofa?” Louis said. “What for? I’m right next door.” 

“No, I know,” Harry said. “I could pull out the sofa bed…?” 

Louis smirked. “It’s fine. I think I can manage the long trek home. See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, the guys will be here by noon, so you could just come on over whenever you wake up,” Harry said. “I have some errands to run, but the door will be unlocked and someone should be here.” 

“Alright, g’night,” Louis said, as they walked to the door. He let Harry open it for him, and hesitated in the doorway. “Um… I missed you. In case I didn’t say.” 

Harry didn’t respond at first, and Louis was about to slink home, embarrassed, when the quiet words came. “Me too.” 

Louis nodded and touched Harry’s arm briefly as he stepped into the corridor. The door shut quietly behind him, but he didn’t move until he heard the turning of the lock. 

* 

He awoke at around one in the afternoon, took his time showering and styling his hair, but threw on joggers and a t-shirt and didn’t bother with shoes. He wanted to consult with Harry before picking out a real outfit; he wasn’t sure what he had in his wardrobe that would befit a punk show. He ate a bowl of cereal and left his dish in the sink before going next door. 

Due to the blasting punk music audible from his own flat and the corridor, he wasn’t surprised to find a few guys on the sofa playing video games, and Harry nowhere in sight. “Hey,” Will greeted him. 

“Hey,” Louis said. 

“This is Haydn and Icky,” Will said. Hadyn had bleached hair and a large, crooked nose. Icky’s hair was shaggy and naturally blond, and he looked less punk and more generic rock and roll. Neither of them were what Louis would call attractive, but they offered him friendly smiles, which he returned. 

“Icky’s an interesting name,” he said. 

“It’s Nick, really,” Icky said. “Icky’s just a stupid nickname that Will started when we were in primary school and it stuck.” 

“Sticky Icky,” Louis said, and Icky laughed good-naturedly. 

“Our lead singer, Jem’s, in there,” Will said, pointing to the kitchen. “We got Icky on bass and Haydn’s on guitar. And me on drums, I think I told you?” 

“Yeah,” said Louis. “What are we playing?” 

“I don’t know, some dumb shit Haydn stole from that bird he’s shagging,” Icky said. 

“Hey!” Haydn protested. “You just think it’s dumb ‘cause you’re shit at it.” 

Louis checked at the screen and saw it was a skateboarding game. “This the new Pro Skater?” 

“Yeah, man, you into it?” Haydn said. 

“I don’t play the game much, but I skate,” Louis said. 

“No shit?” said Haydn. 

“Yeah, you?” he said, and Haydn nodded. “How long are you in town?” 

“We leave tomorrow, man,” Haydn said. “We’re touring for the next couple months.” 

“Next time you’re here, we’ll have sesh,” Louis said. “I’ll show you the good spots.” 

“Sick,” Haydn said. 

Jem emerged from the kitchen with a plate of crisps and a sandwich, looking like his photograph belonged in the dictionary under the word _punk rocker_. He had a tall, bright green mohawk and a faceful of piercings. Tattoos covered his arms, bare chest, and crept up his neck, and his ripped jeans looked like they were about to rot off. 

“Come meet Harry’s neighbour,” Will said. 

“Hi, I’m Louis,” he said. 

Jem stopped in his tracks and his eyebrows shot up. “Louis! Hey, y’alright?” 

“… yeah, good?” Louis said. 

“You don’t recognise me?” Jem said. 

“Uh,” Louis said uncertainly. “Sorry, mate?” 

“James Brent,” said Jem, and Louis was momentarily speechless. James Brent had been the first best friend he’d ever had. They’d met in nursery school and their friendship had continued into his second year of primary, until he’d moved to Doncaster after his parents’ divorce. They’d somewhat reconnected in secondary school, because they were on their respective school’s football teams, and would run into each other at games. James had always been clean cut, nothing at all like the punk rocker that stood before him now. “Guess I look a lot different, eh?” 

“You could say that,” Louis agreed. 

“Worst part of school sport is the dress code,” Jem said. “Haven’t seen you in a while, mate!” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, taken aback. “What are the chances?” 

“You two know each other?” Will said. 

“Since nursery school,” said Jem. 

“So weird to run into you like this,” Louis said. 

“Man, it’s weirder about you and Harry,” Jem said. “That’s fucking freaky, right there!” 

“What?” said Louis. 

“You two being neighbours again,” said Jem. “That’s some Twilight Zone shit.” 

“What?” said Will, and Louis was glad he didn’t have to repeat it himself, because… _what?_

“Man, Louis’s the one who introduced me and Harry. They were neighbours when they were little kids!” said Jem. “We used to play Power Rangers in Louis’ back garden. But you didn’t keep in touch with Harry after you moved, did you? I mean, I’m sure I would’ve known if you did.” 

“Uh…” Louis said, his mind whirring, trying to process it all. Harry, his best mate as a kid, the boy with the straight, light-brown hair and rosy cheeks, could he have really grown up to be a gorgeous punk rocker with dark brown curls? And Jem was right, the idea of them ending up next door to each other again, after all these years… what the fuck did that even mean? Louis had always been a big believer in fate, but he’d never experienced such a strange coincidence, if it could be called that. “No, we didn’t keep in touch.” 

“That’s fuckin’ weird,” Jem said, shaking his head. 

“That’s random,” Will said, and Haydn agreed. 

“Did you not know?” said Icky. 

“No, I didn’t. That was a long time ago,” said Louis. 

“Right. Weird,” Icky said. 

The guys went back to their video game, but Louis pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Harry a text telling him he was in his flat and asking when he’d be back. He got a quick response: 

_morrrning sleepyhead ;) on my way. back in 15 min tops .x_

It was exactly twelve minutes later that Harry arrived; Louis knew because he’d kept impatiently checking the time. He was carrying bags of groceries, calling hello as he went straight to the kitchen, and Louis was hot on his heels. 

“Hey,” Harry said, as he put the bags on the countertop. He pulled Louis into a brief hug before beginning to put away the food. “What’s up?” 

“Harry Edward Styles,” Louis said. 

“Yeah?” said Harry. 

“You’re… Harry Edward Styles,” Louis said. 

“… yeah?” Harry said. “Who else would I be?” 

“No, you’re _my_ Harry,” Louis said. “I mean, you’re my friend. My neighbour.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. 

“No, I mean, we were neighbours already. When we were kids,” said Louis. “I’m your Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” 

Harry’s forehead wrinkled. “What?” 

“My mum’s name is Jay? Your mum is Anne, and your sister… I thought it was Jen, but I remembered it wrong, didn’t I? It’s Gemma, your sister that’s got a new boyfriend you don’t like,” Louis said, everything clicking into place now. “And your mum that you talk to every day, that’s Anne. I remember she used to make us pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse.” 

“No way,” said Harry, catching on. “Your mum is Jay, and she used to make us sandwiches with the crusts cut off. I remember that. And you taught me where to find frogs after it rains. And you made me ride my tricycle down the stairs and I nearly died.” 

“I didn’t _make_ you,” Louis denied. “I _dared_ you. You didn’t have to do it.” 

“Of course I did. My manly honour was on the line,” Harry said righteously. 

“Then it was worth almost dying,” Louis said. “Anyway, you lived to tell the tale. I’m sure you endangered my life plenty of times back then.” 

Harry studied him, astonished. “God, that’s… incredible. I have to—” 

“—tell your mum,” Louis supplied. 

“No,” Harry said, a little too quickly to be believable. “Tell Gemma. Iced Gem, we used to call her.” 

“Gem, right,” Louis said. “And you were H.” 

“They still call me that,” Harry said. “God, I can’t believe it. What are the chances?” 

“My mind is blown,” Louis said. “I feel like it’s a prank, only it’s not.” 

“I guess we were just… meant to be neighbours?” Harry said. “And best mates.” 

“Written in the stars,” Louis said, only half-joking. It really was beyond the pale. He reached out and tweaked one of Harry’s curls, “So when the hell did you grow these, by the way?” 

Harry laughed loudly. “Sometime around puberty, when I let my hair grow out to hide my ears.” 

“I like your ears,” Louis said, tickling one. “They’re quirky.” 

Harry smiled. “So Jem isn’t my oldest friend anymore, then. You are.” 

“Well, you _met_ me first, but you’ve _known_ him longer,” Louis said, although he was secretly pleased by the idea of being Harry’s oldest friend. 

“Nope, you were my first best friend, that counts,” Harry said. “My blue-eyed Louis next door.” 

“You weren’t even sure if you remembered that right,” Louis pointed out. 

“But I did,” Harry said, and Louis had to smile. 

* 

Harry insisted it didn’t matter what Louis wore to the show, but Louis didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. He ended up settling on dark jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and black Vans. 

“Who cares?” Niall said, not giving a second thought to his own bright green jumper with a cartoon duck on it. 

“Whatever. You ready?” Louis said, tucking his I.D., money, and phone into his back pocket. He rarely carried a wallet, as he preferred the bulges in his jeans to be blessings from Mother Nature, rather than unsightly rectangles. 

“Waiting on you,” Niall said, and they hurried out to the car park. The band’s van was idling, side door thrown open and the guys rearranging the instruments and equipment inside of it. They piled in, Harry ending up sitting on the very edge of the bench seat. 

“Here,” Louis said, grabbing him ‘round the waist and pulling, inviting him onto his lap. 

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. 

“Come on,” Louis said, patting his hip, and Harry gave in. “God, Harry, you’re so fat!” 

“Shut up!” Harry laughed, trying to move away, but Louis held him in place tightly. 

“You’re breaking my legs!” Louis shouted. 

“Then let me move!” Harry said, trying again to shift his weight. 

“No, too late. I’m already paralyzed from the waist down. Damage is done,” Louis said. Harry snorted but stayed put, and he really wasn’t a burden. Louis always liked it when Harry was on top of him – okay, that could be taken the wrong way— but the solid weight and length of him, it was somehow comforting. He kept his arms looped around Harry’s waist, resting his head against Harry’s back and closing his eyes. Harry’s hands covered his and stayed there for the rest of the trip. 

* 

He shadowed Harry around the venue as the bands set up, listening as he pointed out each band, whose names Louis promptly forgot, in order of the show’s line-up. He warned Louis not to wander off alone or venture into the mosh pit, and Louis assured him it wouldn’t be an issue. He felt ridiculous even admitting it to himself, but the revelation of their childhood bond made him feel a bit clingy; he had no desire to leave Harry’s side. 

Niall was on stage with the opening act, in a conversation with their guitarist and Haydn, almost certainly talking shop. “You want a drink?” Harry said, leading him to the bar along the back wall furthest from the stage. They got beers and stood at the bar sipping them, people coming up to greet Harry; everyone seemed to know him and be happy to see him. Louis couldn’t keep track of their names, but it was an interesting parade of wild hairstyles, facial piercings, and tattoos. 

“Hey, Tom and Sam are here,” Harry said, and Louis recognised the tattooed man he’d seen briefly at Caroline’s party accompanying the twins. He followed Harry over to say hi, pleasantly surprised by the hug and warm greeting Sam gave him. 

“How you been, love?” he said. 

“Stressed as hell, but that’s alright,” she said. “Makes nights like this even better, got tonnes of steam to blow off!” 

“Aw, y’okay?” Louis said. 

“Just the shop,” she said ambiguously. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to enjoy myself and not think about anything.” 

“Think we can swing that,” Louis told her with a grin. 

“That Rex?” Tom said, and Louis didn’t know who he meant, but he was pointing at a cluster of people across the room. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “He got out last week.” 

“Out of what?” Louis asked. 

“Jail,” Harry said, and laughed at the expression on Louis’ face. “He tried to break into a off-licence when he was blind drunk and tripped the silent alarm.” 

“Oh,” said Louis. 

“He’s not too bright, but he’s a nice bloke,” Tom said. “Let’s bring him a beer, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

“We’ll stay here,” Sam said, and Harry looked at Louis questioningly. 

“Yeah, we’ll stay,” Louis said. 

“Go on,” Sam said, when Harry hesitated. “He doesn’t need a chaperone.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and shot Louis a smile, glancing back as he and Tom walked away. Louis waved him off, smirking. 

“He’s so overprotective, that one,” Sam said. “I swear, you should’ve seen him when Lou was pregnant.” 

“I can only imagine,” Louis chuckled. 

“He acted like she was made out of glass. It was a riot,” Sam said. “Mind if I smoke?” 

“Go ahead,” he said. “So, are you and Tom dating?” 

“Me and Tom?!” Sam shrieked, as if the thought were blasphemous. “No, of course not! I’m a Single Pringle at the moment. Although maybe not tonight.” 

“What’s tonight?” Louis asked. 

“Well, you know. Lots of hot guys will be here, and a lady has needs,” she said playfully. “How’s my hair, is it going flat?” 

“You look great,” he said. 

“Thanks, doll. You, too,” she said. “What about you. Have you got a boyfriend?” 

“No, I’m unhappily single,” Louis said. “The Singlest of all Pringles. I’m that stale, broken one you find at the bottom of the tube.” 

“Oh god, no!” she giggled. “Never! You’re too lovely to be stale or broken. But I thought you were dating Greg James?” 

He tucked his chin and raised his eyebrows at her. “If you know, then why did you ask?” 

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if he was your boyfriend or not. And I wanted the juicy details!” 

He had to smile at that. “No, he’s not my boyfriend. It’s early days yet; we’re just getting to know each other. There’s no juicy details, sorry to disappoint.” 

“No worries,” she said. “Think of it this way: leaves the door open for tonight’s juicy details! We’re both free agents out on the prowl.” 

“Young, dumb, and full of cum,” he said. 

“Well, two out of three ain’t bad,” she said, and he poked her. “Okay, help me scope out the hot guys. I like them muscular and it’s no problem if he looks a bit dim. The dim ones are usually pretty good in bed.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Louis said. 

* 

Harry was back at his side by the time the show started, but they lost track of each other somewhere after White Eskimo played. Louis had been dragged away by Icky to take shots at the bar, begging off after three whiskey doubles. Fans of the band approached Icky, and Louis wandered off when he spotted Niall further down along the bar, pushing his way through the crowd to join him. “Hey! Having fun?” 

“Hey, yeah,” Niall said, and whacked the arm of the guy next to him. “Rat, this is my flatmate Louis.” 

“Hey,” Rat said, and pulled a joint out of his jacket pocket. “You smoke?” 

“I’m alright,” Louis said, and Niall echoed him. Rat shrugged and disappeared into the crowd. “Is his name really _Rat_?” 

“I don’t know; that’s what he said,” Niall said, in typical unbothered Niall fashion. “Where’s Harry?” 

“We don’t have to be together at all times, despite what you seem to think,” Louis informed him. “He’s probably off talking to friends. I’m not bothered; I’m sure I’ll see him again in this lifetime.” 

“Oh, there he is,” Niall said, and Louis whipped around to spot him in a corner of the room, talking to a guy. An attractive punk rocker guy, about their age, leaning in close and smiling up at Harry. “Yeah, looks like he found a friend just fine.” 

“Don’t be an prick,” Louis said. 

“What? I’m being observant,” Niall said. “You said you have no intention of shagging him, right? Unlike that lad with blue hair.” 

“Fuck off,” Louis said agitatedly. He’d seen Harry flirt with females of all ages and walks of life, and it mostly didn’t bother him, but he’d never seen Harry flirt with a boy. It rubbed him the wrong way, the thought of Harry hooking up with a guy. Or more truthfully, the thought of Harry hooking up with a guy that wasn’t Louis. 

“So your boyhood pal magically appears next door to you after all these years, and he’s got a great personality and he’s well fit and he wants to have a go, and you’re not interested, because you’ve decided – at twenty years old— to become a monk until you meet your future husband,” Niall said. 

“And people call _me_ the annoying one,” Louis said, too perturbed to even tease Niall for calling Harry fit. The blue-haired lad had his hand on Harry’s arm now. 

“You won’t see me getting tied down anytime soon,” Niall declared loudly. “I intend to wreck the shit out of my reckless youth.” 

“I’m sort of seeing someone,” Louis said. 

“So see him. Does that mean you can’t have any fun in the meanwhile?” Niall said. “You need to get laid, Tomlinson. How long has it been since you’ve had any action?” 

Louis frowned. It had been way too long, and masturbation was no replacement for real sex. He and Greg had barely kissed yet, just a peck when they said goodbye. He was wary of rushing the sexual side of things, fairly sure that taking it slow was the hallmark of a mature adult relationship. 

“You know what? Fuck it. I’m not going to try to convince you to fuck Harry,” Niall said. “I just think you should, because it’s stupid not to, when you both want it and you get along so well. If him and that Caroline bird are anything to go by, it won't ruin your friendship. Didn’t you say they cooled it off when she had a boyfriend, but stayed friends? So if you and Greg get together, you could do the same thing, innit?” 

Niall was making an inordinate amount of sense right now, and Louis wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol he’d imbibed or his desire for it to not be the worst idea ever to sleep with Harry. Right now, all he could think of were all the good reasons for it. Reasons like getting that blue-haired git away from him. Reasons like Harry’s big hands and sculpted abs and full lips. 

“Okay,” Louis said abruptly, and handed Niall his beer. “Shut up. I hate you. You’re on the sofa tonight.” 

“What, really?” Niall said, shocked. “Wait, are you serious?” 

“Shut up,” Louis repeated, and weaved his way through the crowd until he reached Harry. He stepped right between him and the blue-haired boy, forcing the guy to step back. He glared at Louis, but Louis just smiled smugly and turned toward Harry, tugging on his t-shirt. “Hey, you.” 

“Hey,” Harry said. “Are you drunk?” 

“No… little bit,” Louis said. “I want to talk to you.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, and looked past Louis. “I’ll catch up with you later, Mark.” 

Louis tucked himself under Harry’s arm and flashed a cheerful grin. “Bye, Mark!” 

The blue-haired boy smiled at Louis sourly and told Harry, “Sure. You have my number. Use it?” 

Louis stuck his tongue out at the guy’s retreating back, then tugged on Harry’s shirt again and pouted. “Who’s that?” 

“That’s my friend Mark,” Harry said, looking fond and amused. “What’s wrong?” 

“He’s kind of cute.” Louis frowned. 

“He’s cute,” Harry said, searching Louis’ face. “What are you up to?” 

“This,” Louis said, and grabbed Harry by the back of the neck, lifting up on his toes while pulling Harry down, until their lips met in a slick rush. He moaned into it, clutching at Harry’s shirt with his other hand. Harry’s arms wrapped around him immediately, and the kissed deepened and didn’t stop until they had to pull back for air. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed. 

“Good idea,” said Louis. 

“What?” Harry said bewilderedly, his hands sliding down to cup Louis’ arse. “Please don’t tease me.” 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis said, in between hot kisses, as Harry’s hands began to squeeze. “I don’t want to tease you; I want to suck your dick.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry cursed. “Fuck. Louis, goddamnit.” 

“What? Sorry,” Louis murmured, biting Harry’s neck and sucking hard. 

Harry made the most delicious noises, kneading Louis’ arse, before suddenly pushing him off. “Come on,” he said harshly, taking Louis by the arm and tugging him toward the entrance. Louis had no choice but to stumble along, apologising to the people he bumped into as Harry yanked him forth. 

They made their way outside and Harry hailed a cab. He opened the door and ushered Louis into it with none of his usual care. They rode in near silence to their building, Harry speaking to the cabbie in short, clipped sentences. The tension was palpable. Louis was not put off by Harry’s aloofness; in fact, the opposite. It turned him on to hear friendly Harry speak so briskly, to have careful Harry manhandle him. The suspense was titillating, but it was still a relief when the cab stopped and Harry got out, tossed a few notes at the cabbie, and took Louis by the arm again to lead him up the stairs. 

“Wait--“ Louis said, and his insides twisted at the dark look in Harry’s eyes. “Mine...” 

Harry released him and Louis dug into his front pocket for his key, tucked all the way down for safekeeping. He fumbled with it at the lock, got it in after three attempts, and exhaled when he finally got the door open. “Okay, um,” he said, but Harry was already guiding him inside with a hand on the small of his back. He managed to keep hold of his key and shove it back in his jeans as they went into his bedroom. 

Harry shut and locked the door behind them and stripped off his shirt. Louis gulped, quailing a bit inside, wanting the Harry he knew back, just for a moment, just to make sure this was the right thing to do. Harry discarded his jeans next, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs, and took hold of Louis’ shirt. 

“Harry,” he said quietly, but lifted his arms and then each foot obligingly, letting Harry undress him. He focused on Harry’s perfect abdomen, not looking up, even when he could feel Harry’s eyes on him. He let Harry stare at him, and he let Harry push him down on the bed and climb atop him. 

Harry took Louis’ face in one hand and turned it so he could look in his eyes. Louis gazed back in simple acceptance. He had asked for this, and offered this, and he wasn’t going to back out now. It maybe wasn’t what he’d… imagined, but. 

“I want to kiss you,” Harry said softly, his hand curving around Louis’ jaw to pet his cheek. 

“What?” Louis whispered cautiously. 

“I just want to kiss you. A lot. If that’s okay,” Harry said. 

It felt like a million knots unfurled inside of Louis, and he melted into Harry’s arms as they drew him close. “Yeah, kiss me,” he said. “I want to kiss you, too.” 

Their lips met and met again, sucking and nibbling and tasting; he hadn’t just _kissed_ like this in years. Probably not since secondary school, with his first girlfriend, when they’d spend hours snogging in her bedroom with her mum downstairs cooking dinner. This was different; light-years away from blundering teenage encounters. 

Harry knew just how to kiss him to make his toes curl, just how to touch him to make him feel like his skin was too tight. Their legs were entwined, their hips grinding unabashedly, and there was no doubt that this embrace would end in mutual satisfaction. He bit at Harry’s jawline, down his neck and across his shoulders. Harry’s fingers threaded through Louis’ hair and eased his head back, and then Harry was at the pulse point on Louis’ neck, the barest hint of teeth followed by leisurely suction, gradually intensifying until his entire body was throbbing in synch with his heartbeat and he was writhing, clutching Harry’s shoulders pleadingly. 

Harry pulled back and licked a long line from the bottom of Louis neck up to his ear, and whispered in it, “Do you want to come for me, Louis?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasped. “Fuck, yes.” 

“Then do it,” Harry said, reaching between them to palm Louis’ cock through his boxers. “Come for me. I want you to,” and kissed him, licked into his mouth and rubbed his cock. Louis moaned and wriggled, trying to slip out of his boxers, get Harry’s hand on his bare flesh. He cried out when Harry finally reached under the waistband and jacked Louis’ cock in earnest, and a dozen strong, steady pumps later, he was coming all over Harry’s hand and his own chest. 

They looked down at the mess between them, then at each other. “Fucking hell,” Louis laughed breathlessly. Harry grinned wolfishly and pushed the front of his own boxers down to free his erection. It looked even bigger than it had felt, rubbing against Louis’ hip. It was big and thick and perfect, and Louis wanted his mouth on it. He didn’t think Harry could handle that, though, because he was already rutting against Louis’ wet tummy, and Louis put a hand over that big, hard cock, kept it sliding against the mess on his skin, sucking hard on Harry’s tongue to show him what he’d like to do to him. 

Harry groaned deeply, one hand grasping Louis’ hip so hard it would surely leave bruises. He ripped away from the kiss and went back to Louis’ neck, sucking the same spot as earlier, already sore, but the pain was gratifying; it felt like something Louis had _earned_. He tugged on Harry’s curls, petted the back of his neck. “Do it, do it,” he chanted. “Come all over me, Harry.” 

Harry pushed Louis’ hand off his cock and took hold of it himself, scrambling up to sit on Louis’ thighs. “You gonna come on me, Harry?” 

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, and Louis smoothed his hands up Harry’s lean thighs and torso. “Hey,” he said, and Louis looked into his eyes. “Let me see you.” 

Louis lay obediently still, gaze locked on Harry as Harry’s eyes devoured every inch of him, as he ran his hand up Louis’ chest and pinched his nipple, stroked his biceps and his neck. “Fuck,” Harry grunted, bending down to kiss him hungrily as he finished himself off, hot spurts painting Louis’ chest, and then he dropped onto Louis heavily and kept kissing him, over and over, until their lips were barely moving, exhausted, and Harry pulled him into a crushing hug. 

“Fuck, I needed that,” Louis panted. “Like, I _really_ needed that.” 

“Me too,” said Harry, easing the embrace. He rolled off of Louis and they used the top sheet to wipe themselves off. Louis moved to the far side of the bed and lay on his side, and when Harry spooned him, he snuggled back into his warmth. 

* 

When his alarm went off, his first thought was find his phone and throw it out the window. His second thought was that he’d fucked around with Harry, and he startled awake. He moved carefully, trying not to disturb him. He managed to get off the bed and out of the room without waking him, and hurried to shower and get ready. He only had thirty minutes before Greg picked him up. 

He snuck back into his room with a towel around his waist, relieved when he saw that Harry hadn’t roused, and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers. 

“Morning.” 

He whirled around to find Harry smiling at him blearily. His curls were sticking up crazily; his face puffy and adorable. Louis wished he had time to crawl back into bed with him and sleep some more. “Morning,” he said. “You can keep sleeping if you want.” 

“No, ‘sok,” Harry said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his fists. He yawned and stretched, and Louis watched it all like a creeper. “What are you doing? Do you have work?” 

“No,” Louis said, pulling on trousers. 

“Then come back,” Harry said, stretching out his arms and making grabby hands. 

“I can’t. I have plans,” Louis said. He could hear the awkwardness in his own voice and hoped Harry wouldn’t notice. 

Harry went very quiet and Louis tensed. “What kind of plans?” 

“I have, uh, I have a thing,” Louis said. 

“With Greg?” Harry said. 

“Yeah,” said Louis, and rushed on, “I mean, your friends are leaving today, so I’m sure you want to spend time with them anyway. I mean, you see me all the time, so—” 

“Louis, relax,” Harry said. “It’s okay if you have a date.” 

“I just didn’t want you to think—” Louis floundered. “I mean, last night—” 

“Last night was some fun between mates, yeah?” Harry said easily. “I didn’t think anything.” 

“Okay,” Louis said. He stared at Harry, at his pretty green eyes. The eyes that he’d never forgotten, as sweet and clear as they were when they were young boys; best mates who’d sworn to never part. He went to the bed and leaned down to kiss Harry chastely. “It was really hot, though.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Harry said, and they shared grins. “We’ll do it again sometime. If you want.” 

“Yeah, why not?” Louis said, and smoothed Harry’s curls back. “Alright, I have to hurry.” 

“I should probably see if the guys are up,” Harry said, hefting himself out of bed. 

“Text me later?” Louis said, just to check. 

“Try and stop me,” Harry teased, and Louis laughed. 

He hummed to himself as he finished dressing, feeling satisfied in the way that only a really good orgasm could achieve. He was practically floating on air, and it was only when he went to check his outfit in the mirror that he gaped in horror at his reflection. His was covered in love bites, an especially monstrous one on the side of his neck. He hastily changed out of the turquoise jumper he’d chosen and into a black turtleneck. It didn’t hide the bruise on his jawline, but that one wasn’t too noticeable – at least, he hoped. 

He should probably feel guilty about going on a date covered in love bites from his best friend, but instead, he was exceedingly cheerful. Greg seemed to benefit from it as well, remarking multiple times on Louis’ good mood. “Someone can’t wipe the smile off his face today.” 

“Well, I’m having fun,” Louis said honestly, although he’d probably have fun shoveling cow manure in the state he was in. 

“I hope, in some small part, due to your charming companion?” Greg said. 

“Absolutely,” Louis said. “Some small part, at least.” 

“Oi, you keep that up and I won’t invite you to the studio tomorrow,” Greg warned. 

“What?” said Louis. 

“You said you don’t work tomorrow, right? So, fancy witnessing a genius at work? Learn all about the magical world of broadcast radio?” Greg said. 

“Wicked! Yeah, great! I’d love to,” Louis said. 

“I could pick you up from campus?” Greg offered. 

Louis was so excited, he could only nod. He’d have to remember to put his camera in his messenger bag, and tell his mum to listen to the radio in case he could give her a shout-out or dedicate a song to her, and same for Niall and Liam and Zayn, and maybe even Harry, although he’d been to the radio station heaps and it wouldn’t impress him. 

He excused himself to the loo and pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text: 

_going to radio statn tmw :) I no u been 100000 times but my 1st! excited ! xx_

It took a while to get a reply, but when he did, it made Louis curse loudly. 

_hey … didnt ur mum used to call u BOO BEAR????_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that leaves kudos and comments. I look forward to hearing your thoughts every time I post, and I appreciate your support<333


	7. Chapter 7

On Monday, Louis woke up earlier than usual so he could take his time getting dressed, wanting to look good when he visited the radio station. As a result, he fell asleep on the bus on the way to campus. Fortunately, Harry was there to wake him up. Unfortunately, there was no one to stop him from dozing off during his first lecture and drooling all over his desk. He wasn’t embarrassed; it wasn’t the first time he’d slept through a lecture and likely wouldn’t be the last. 

He was stupidly nervous and excited, and coped by spamming Harry with text messages during his afternoon lecture. 

_hairy y r u ignoring meeeeeee ?? hairy styles hairstyles???_

_oh wait u have to do a presentation today duh_ _good luck curlyman !! not that u need it since u revised all night instead of watching telly with me :(((_

_I fell asleep in lecture and dreamt I was a trapeze man in a circus_

_there was a llama named liama_

_and a zebra named zaynbra_

_and a harrypotomaus_

_wait thats a zoo not a circus_

_is it?? wot animals r at the circus I cant remember…_

_I’m trying to remember all the ones in dumbo… elephants obviously.. pretty sure there were hippos.. I think?_

He went off on a tangent about how the film was actually pretty twisted and inappropriate for children, what with a baby elephant getting drunk and hallucinating. After a while, he decided he was being annoying, even by his own standards, and forced himself to stop. 

He tried to concentrate on the lecture and take notes, but his leg was jiggling under his desk and he couldn’t stop glancing at the clock on the wall. Greg was going to pick him up and Louis didn’t want to keep him waiting. If the lecturer didn’t dismiss them on time, Louis would just leave. It would definitely annoy her, because this particular lecturer was touchy about stupid shit like that, but whatever; fuck it. 

His phone buzzed as a text from Harry popped up on the screen. For a moment, he didn’t get what it meant, but then he remembered his ramblings about Dumbo. 

_we’ll have to watch it sometime soon and check .x_

Louis smiled and relaxed, soothed as always by Harry’s humour, Harry’s affection, Harry’s presence in his life. There was something about his friendship that felt both intensely comforting and dauntingly essential. Louis wasn’t sure how to get along without him anymore, and it was a bit unsettling how quickly and irreversibly it had gotten to that point. 

His phone buzzed again, and his smile grew into a grin when he read it. 

_elouisphant_

* 

"Are you starting a trend?” Greg said, when Louis got in his car. 

“What?” he said, and when Greg nodded toward the blue jumper he was wearing, Louis said, “Oh… uh, I’ve had a tickle in my throat since yesterday; just hoping to stave off a cold.” It was a lame excuse, but he could hardly tell the truth – that he was wearing a turtleneck for the second day in a row because the love bites Harry had given him on Saturday night would need a few more days to fade away. 

“You felt poorly yesterday and you still snogged me?” Greg reprimanded, but there was no bite to it. 

“Oh please, that was hardly a snog,” Louis said. “I kissed you goodnight. Only because I could tell you would cry yourself to sleep if I didn’t.” 

“How charitable of you,” Greg said. 

Louis made a show of rolling his eyes and plucked at Greg’s plaid button-up shirt. “You’ve got a nerve making fun of other people while dressed like Moss.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re a fan of the IT Crowd?” Greg said. 

“Is there anyone who isn’t?” Louis said. “Honestly, I would have slapped you if you didn’t get that reference.” 

“That’s it. It’s official: we’re best mates,” Greg declared. 

“Is that all it takes?” Louis said. “You’re an easy one!” 

“You should have guessed by now that my standards in all things are extremely low,” Greg said, earning him a smack on the arm. “Hey now! Don’t abuse me while I’m trying to drive.” 

Louis glared at him jokingly and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Speaking of best mates, Harry was likely on his way to work. 

_have fun at work babycakes. listen to the radio if u can.. gonna play u a song xx_

* 

Louis spent the first half-hour at the radio station rather shy and reserved, smiling and nodding at everyone he met, trying to stay out of the way and still soak in all of the action. He was given headphones to wear and a microphone to sit by, and during every commercial break, Greg would ask if he wanted to speak live on the air. Louis kept saying, “In a little while, not yet.” 

At the half-hour mark, Greg suddenly introduced the local university student who was his special musical guest of the day. Louis opened his mouth to protest and Greg quickly warned him, “Don’t curse! Tell us what song you’re going to perform for us.” 

“You’re mental if you think I’m singing!” Louis exclaimed. 

“Then play us something… We’ve got a keyboard. Do you play?” Greg asked. 

Louis actually did know a couple of songs, not properly, but just from watching YouTube tutorials. Greg said he’d done the same thing, and Louis agreed to play if Greg did, too. They set up the keyboard during another commercial break, and their performance wasn’t what one might call musically impressive, but it was a good laugh and helped Louis loosen up. 

After that, he had no problem chiming in during Greg’s show, suggesting which songs to play and expressing his opinion on what was currently on the charts. They played some of his favourite songs and some cheesy ones just for fun. They dedicated a Spice Girls song to Nick and a Busted song from Nick to Caroline’s ruined coat. He dedicated an R&B love song to Liam and Zayn, a song by The Fray to his best friend Stan from Doncaster, a Beiber song to Niall, and the new Britney track to his little sisters. Then he chose Robbie William’s _Angels_ , saying, “I’m going to go shamelessly sentimental and send this one out to my mum, Jay.” 

“Are you a Robbie fan?” Greg asked, although they’d discussed it before. 

“Oh, massive,” Louis said. “He’s the man. I’m a massive fan, definitely.” 

“He’s performing at the Radio One Teen Awards next month,” Greg said. 

“I know. Absolutely can’t wait for it; I’ll be watching,” Louis said. 

“Why don’t you watch it in person?” Greg suggested. “We could hook you and a friend up with some backstage passes. You can be our guest correspondent, and come back afterwards to report how it went.” 

Louis gaped at Greg, at a loss for words and unsure if he was joking. 

“What do you say?” Greg prompted. 

“Yeah, definitely!” Louis said, finding his voice. “That would be amazing! Are you serious?” 

“There you have it,” Greg announced. “Our guest correspondent, Louis, will be on assignment at this year’s Radio One Teen Awards. Tune in the following Monday for his report. And photos! We’ll expect plenty of photos to upload to our site.” 

“Of course!” Louis said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Greg cut to another commercial break and said, “Sorry to put you on the spot; you set it up perfectly with that song. Dramatic effect and all.” 

“No, are you kidding? It’s fine,” Louis said. “That’s… that’s really incredible, thank you so much. This is probably the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me, thank you.” 

Greg smiled. "You're welcome. I was going to offer you passes anyway, but you’re a natural on air; it’ll be a good gimmick.” 

“Oh thanks,” Louis said sarcastically, but he was grinning at the compliment. 

“You try filling four hours of live radio a day! I’m desperate, here!” Greg joked. He signaled he was going back on the air, then introduced Emile Sandé’s current single. 

“That’s a tune,” Louis chimed in, already scrolling through his phone to text Harry the good news. 

_guess who’s going to the teen awards!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

He still had one song dedication to send out, and he asked Greg if the track he’d chosen earlier was queued up and ready to go. Louis waited impatiently for the new Saturdays track to play. He hadn’t gotten a reply to his text, so Harry might be too busy to check his phone, but he hoped he was listening to the show. “This is my final dedication of the day, unless I think of something else… it goes out to my date to the Radio One Teen Awards. Here’s Queen, _You’re My Best Friend_ , for my oldest friend with curly hair. Except his hair wasn’t curly back then. And he’s not answering my texts. But here it is anyway, for Harrypotomus.” 

“He’s not answering your texts?” Greg said, once their mics were off. 

“He’s at work,” Louis said. “Just giving him a hard time.” 

His phone was steadily buzzing, texts flooding in from his excited mum and sisters and friends, but he kept an eye out for Harry’s response. He got a call instead, and stood up, tilting his head to indicate to Greg that he was heading outside to answer it. As soon as he was safely in the corridor, he said, “Hey, mate!” 

“ _So you’re taking me? You sure?_ ” 

“Who else?” Louis said. “If you can sneak out of the circus for the night.” 

“ _I thought you might invite your friend Stan._ ” 

“Oh… I didn’t even think of that,” Louis admitted. Stan still lived in Doncaster, but he certainly would’ve come to London for the show. 

“ _It’s okay if you want to take him instead_.” 

“You don’t want to go?” Louis said, surprised. 

“ _Yeah, of course I do! There’s just… a lot of people you could have invited…_ ” 

“Well, I chose you,” Louis said lightly. 

There was a pause before Harry spoke, but when he did, he sounded pleased. 

“ _Okay. Thank you._ ” 

Louis smiled down at his shoes, wiggling his toes in his Vans, content to sit in companionable silence. 

“ _I’ll let you get back to the show?_ ” Harry offered at length. “ _You’re doing great. Really funny._ ” 

“Thanks,” Louis said. “I’ll see you later?” 

“ _Yeah. Don’t let him play that new Ke$ha song_.” 

“What? Play the new Ke$ha song on loop? You got it!” Louis said. 

“ _Why must you torture me?_ ” 

“Because you look so pretty when you cry,” Louis teased. “Bye, mate. Love you.” 

“ _Love you._ ” 

Louis went back into the studio re-energised, nearly bouncing off the walls, kicking his jokes up a notch. Knowing for sure that Harry was listening made him want to show off a bit, slip in private jokes that only Harry would understand, and play an extended remix version of the new Ke$ha song, proclaiming it had been requested by ‘a smelly crybaby who wets his pants’. 

* 

After the show, Louis went to dinner with Greg and his producers, two women who looked to be in their early thirties. They were friendly and clever, and he got along with them quite well, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit out of his depth. He wasn’t yet in the stage of his life that they were; he had nothing to contribute when they discussed the benefits of home ownership versus renting or lamented the quickly passing years. He often whinged about no longer being a teenager, but he knew that saying so to them would only earn him patronising remarks about cherishing his youth. 

He perked up when they moved on to more interesting subjects, like what he could expect at the Teen Awards and what they thought of this season’s _X Factor_ contestants. At the end of the meal, Greg insisted on paying the entire bill, and one of the women, Pippa, told Louis, “You should come out with us more often. I could get used to this!” 

“Shove off,” Greg grumbled. 

“What are your plans for the weekend?” said the other one, Laura. “My birthday dinner is on Saturday. If you’re not busy, you should come with Greg.” 

“I’m perfectly capable of inviting him myself, thank you,” Greg cut in. “I don’t need your help.” 

“So why don’t you?” said Laura. 

“I was going to do it once we were _alone_ ,” Greg said pointedly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think we’ll be on our way.” 

“Leaving so soon? Let’s go for drinks,” Pippa said. 

“Louis has…” Greg trailed off. 

“I have coursework due tomorrow,” Louis said, smiling at Greg to show he didn’t mind telling them. 

“Oh god, the life of a uni student!” she said, not unkindly. “Another time, then. Saturday, if you can make it.” 

“Sounds good,” he said, accepting half-hugs from both of the women before following Greg outside and to his car. 

They made small talk on the drive to Louis’ flat. Greg parked in front of the building’s entrance and Louis looked over at him expectantly. 

“So... Saturday,” Greg said. 

“Saturday,” said Louis. 

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just, you know, a birthday dinner. It’s not formal at all. Everyone brings friends or a date; it’s a crowd. No pressure,” said Greg. 

"Right,” said Louis. “Yeah, that sounds fun. I have work, but I could trade for the early shift.” 

“Oh, you’re working this weekend?” Greg said. 

“Well, yeah. I had the last four days off, so I’m working the rest of the week,” Louis said. 

“Even Sunday?” Greg said. 

“Yeah, the early shift,” he said. “But it's fine; it's always slow on Sundays.” 

“I’ll try not to keep you up too late on Saturday, then,” Greg said. 

Louis’ eyebrows rose at the implications of that, and Greg hastened to explain, “I meant, you know, the dinners usually run quite late, what with drinks and—” 

“It’s fine,” Louis laughed. “You didn’t offend my delicate sensibilities.” 

“That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of you, definitely,” Greg said playfully. “Delicate.” 

“So delicate,” Louis concurred. Greg was looking at him intently, and Louis held still as Greg leaned in to kiss him. He didn’t dare move forward and risk the high collar of his shirt slipping down and exposing one of the love bites littering his skin. 

A shout from outside made them jolt apart. “Hey! Heyyyyy!” It was Nick, of all people. Beside him stood Harry, his shoulders hunched and not quite looking their way. 

“Is that you?” Nick called, as Greg hit the button to lower his window. “Oh, it is you. Your timing is impeccable, Gregory.” 

“What are you doing here?” Greg said. 

“Caroline and Harry and I went out to dinner,” Nick said. “She had plans and we took too long eating, so she didn’t have time to drop me off at home. I was about to call a cab when, look what happens, my knight in shining Bimmer shows up, as if by magic!” 

“God, you live all the way in Primrose Hill, don’t you?” Greg groaned. 

“I’ve got to meet a few people for a quick drink. You don’t mind, do you?” Nick said breezily, going around to the passenger side. 

“I— well,” Louis said, looking at Greg helplessly. 

“I’ll text you,” Greg sighed. 

“Okay,” Louis agreed, retrieving his messenger bag from down by his feet and rolling his eyes at Nick’s grin as he got out of the car. “Hi, Nick.” 

“Hi yourself,” Nick said cheerfully. “What a dashing turtleneck; you look like a beatnik. All you need is a beret. And maybe a goatee.” 

“I’ll get right on that,” Louis said drolly. 

“Good seeing you,” Nick said, climbing into the car. “I caught some of you on the radio today; you were brilliant.” 

Louis softened, touched by the compliment. “Thanks.” 

“Have you ever thought about a career in radio?” Nick said, and before Louis could answer, continued. “You really should.” 

“Goodnight, Louis,” Greg called. 

Louis ducked a little so he could look him in the eyes. “Goodnight. Thanks for everything.” 

“Okay, okay, you’ll talk later. Goodnight,” Nick said, waving Louis off and closing the door. 

Greg honked his horn and waved as he drove away, and Louis waved back before turning to find Harry still lingering by the doorway. Louis ran up to him and thumped him hard on the stomach, then slung an arm around his neck. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Harry said, pulling the door open and holding it for Louis to go in first and lead the way up the stairs. “So, you had a fun a day?” 

“Brilliant!” Louis confirmed. “How was yours?” 

“Pretty good,” Harry said. “My best mate invited me to the Teen Awards.” 

“He sounds like a legend,” Louis said. 

“He is,” Harry said, and Louis grinned at him. “But now I’ve got a tonne of coursework to do.” 

“Me too,” Louis said. “Study buddy?” 

“Sure,” Harry said. “My place? Less distractions.” 

“But distractions are the best part!” Louis said. 

They went into Harry’s flat and settled onto the sofa with their books spread out on the coffee table. Louis tried to persuade Harry to turn on the television, claiming it would just serve as ambiance and he wouldn’t even watch it, but Harry held firm. An hour and a half of steady work later, they were done. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Harry said, closing his laptop. 

“That was god awful,” Louis whinged. “My brain feels like mush. I need FIFA.” 

“What you need…” Harry murmured, crowding him and pushing him back onto the sofa. He went easily, laughing as Harry’s fingers tucked into the collar of Louis’ shirt and pulled it down, exposing his neck. 

“I don’t need any more of that,” Louis chuckled. “I already look like a leopard.” 

“A Louispard,” Harry said, pressing kisses to each bruise. “Looks good on you.” 

“Thanks, but I’d rather not have to wear turtlenecks for the rest of my life,” Louis said. 

“Because you don’t want Greg to see?” Harry’s teeth sunk into Louis’ skin. 

“Don’t!” Louis said, tugging on his curls. Harry allowed himself to be pulled back, but had a defiant little scowl on his face. Louis tucked his lips, trying not to smile. Maybe he should push Harry away completely, but it was easier said than done. Saturday night had been scorching hot, and Louis wanted more. He wanted to know what it was like to be with Harry when they were sober; when he could savour every sensation and remember every detail. He wanted to touch Harry with the lights on. 

He stroked Harry’s cheek, looking at him speculatively, and Harry stared back with a clear and steady gaze. They were two consenting adults. They both knew the score. What was the harm in a few mind-blowing orgasms between friends? Louis slid his hand up to tangle into Harry’s curls again and tug, this time pulling him closer. Their lips met slowly but with purpose, heated but languid, nipping and licking before introducing tongues. 

Harry settled on top of Louis, nesting between his parted thighs, and carded his fingers through Louis’ hair. “You taste the same as last time.” 

“Like what?” Louis asked. “Booze?” He’d had some wine with dinner, but that had been a few hours ago. 

“No,” Harry said, and didn’t elaborate. Before Louis could pry further, Harry was sliding down, pushing up Louis’ shirt and pressing his lips to his abdomen. “The Tummo.” 

“What?” Louis said. 

“The Tummo. Isn’t that what they call you?” Harry said, caressing Louis’ softly-defined stomach and dotting three wet kisses across it. 

“The _Tommo_?” Louis corrected, horrified. 

“Oh, is it?” Harry said. “I thought they were saying ‘Tummo’, ’cause of your cute little tummy.” 

“What?!” Louis covered himself with his arm, mortified. 

Harry grabbed it and pulled it away, nuzzling the faintly-curved belly. “No, I like it! I – I love it. Don’t.” 

Louis groaned. “Great, I’m a fat kid.” 

“No, you’re perfect.” Harry kissed it again, reverently. Louis huffed and crushed Harry’s curls in a loose fist. Harry held eye contact as he licked a stripe up Louis’ tummy and bit it, sucking and releasing, and then repeating the process further down. Louis considered stopping him, but it felt amazing, and at least these love bites could be easily hidden. He wriggled obligingly when Harry toyed with the fly of Louis’ trousers, silently granting permission, and Harry wasted no time getting them all the way off, tossing them onto the floor carelessly. He went for Louis’ shirt next, and Louis sat up and lifted his arms, letting Harry undress him. Harry stripped off his own shirt, and Louis pinched his flat, muscular stomach. 

“No tummo for you,” he noted. 

Harry smirked as Louis smoothed his hands up Harry’s torso, tweaking at all four of his nipples, leaning up to lick and nip at them. Harry grunted and grabbed Louis’ shoulders, shoving him down on his back again and dragging his hands down Louis’ chest. Harry’s hands were large, wrapping easily around Louis’ waist and hips. 

“Do even know how beautiful your body is?” His voice was low and gravelly with arousal. 

“Yeah right,” Louis said, watching curiously as Harry studied his own slim, pale fingers dwarfing Louis’ thickly-muscled, tan thighs. 

“Can I suck you?” Harry asked, and Louis’ thighs and abdomen clenched instinctively, heat flooding him at the simple request, his cock already hardening in his pants. 

Harry’s hand hovered above Louis’ crotch, waiting for an answer. Louis nodded, breathed, “Yeah,” and Harry immediately grasped him through the thin layer of cotton, working him into a full erection before peeling back the fabric and shifting down to take him in. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis cursed, watching and feeling Harry’s pretty pink lips wrap around his cock, his sweet tongue lap at the head of it, his long fingers handling what he wasn’t sucking. It’d been too long since Louis last had his dick in someone’s mouth, especially a mouth as hot and wet and _skilled_ as Harry’s. Harry sucked his dick fearlessly; that was the only word to describe it. The way Harry swallowed until Louis hit the back of his throat and he gagged slightly but didn’t pull back, just sucked harder, his eyelashes damp with tears, his cheeks flushed and hollowed, small noises – whimpers and tiny moans of satisfaction – as he worked Louis’ cock like he was starving for it. 

Louis let himself yank on Harry’s curls and pump his hips, fucking into his mouth, because Harry seemed to want it just as much as he did. He pulled off to gasp for air, his hand taking over the task of driving Louis mindless with pleasure. “Wait, god,” Louis said, not wanting to come yet, and Harry stilled his hand but didn’t let go. He gazed down at him intensely as Louis panted for breath. 

“Can we go to bed?” Harry said hoarsely. Louis hesitated, and Harry said, “Please, I just…” 

Understanding that he wasn’t asking for more, Louis nodded. Harry got up and helped him stand, and Louis held his own bobbing erection and hurried to the bedroom. Harry followed him seconds later, having stripped off completely, and tackled him to the bed. Louis manhandled Harry right back, rolling him onto his back and straddling his hips. Harry went willingly, letting Louis pin him down by his wrists, hands above his head. “Stay,” Louis ordered. 

Harry laughed and complied, but Louis smacked his face lightly and said, “Shh.” 

Harry blinked up at him and Louis frowned sternly. “Be good.” 

Harry blinked again, exaggeratedly docile, and Louis plucked at Harry’s plush bottom lip. “If you want to play, you have to behave." 

Harry’s eyes brightened with a blend of mirth and interest. 

“Are you gonna obey me?” Louis asked, crawling forward on his knees, dick in hand. “And be a good boy?” 

Harry licked his lips, eyes darting from Louis’ cock to his face and back. 

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a treat,” Louis offered. 

Harry moaned, his free hand cupping and squeezing Louis’ arse, the other still pinned. Louis crouched closer, pulling his dick to one side and then letting it go so it slapped Harry’s cheek, and Harry turned his face eagerly, mouth open and tongue out, exhaling loudly as Louis fed it to him. 

“Okay,” Louis mumbled, weight braced on his fist wrapped around Harry’s wrist, burying the other in Harry’s curls; no surprise, considering his borderline obsession with them. They were so fucking pretty all the time, but especially now, when Louis could make a mess of them, could use them to guide Harry’s movements, keep him choking on Louis’ cock or tonguing at the head. Harry was alternately gripping the shaft of Louis’ cock or fondling his arse, occasionally running fingers down the crack to rub at his hole. 

Louis had bottomed on rare occasion with his college boyfriend. Not since then, though. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ it, but they were each other’s first male partners. Frankly, his boyfriend hadn’t known what he was doing, was blundering and nervous whenever he tried, and preferred to let Louis take the lead. As much as Louis had thought he’d loved his boyfriend at the time, and as exciting as their youthful explorations had been, if he met him at this point in his life, he wouldn’t date him. 

He preferred men who were confident in and out of bed, who took what they wanted. By chance, the boys he’d slept with since moving to London had all been bottoms, or willing to bottom for Louis. He’d never had the desire to let one fuck him. But the thought of having Harry’s long, slim fingers inside of him was so appealing that he nearly came just imagining it. He reached back and pushed Harry’s hand against him harder, and Harry looked up at him questioningly. Louis whispered, “Yeah,” and that was it. 

Before he could blink, Harry’s hands (including the one pinned, and Louis had known that Harry was allowing it but it was still a bit irksome how easily he broke the hold), were on Louis’ hips, lifting him up and placing him on his back. It was hasty but not ungentle, and his hips were squeezed briefly, as if to apologise for the abrupt upheaval. Then Harry was leaning over, rummaging through the bedside table and coming back with a bottle of lube. 

He put the bottle beside them on the bed and loomed over Louis, propped up on one arm, to kiss him. Louis could taste himself on Harry’s tongue, and wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist. It was a blur of searing kisses and Harry’s hand on the back of Louis’ thigh, urging him to fold his leg up against his chest. He heard the faint click of a bottle cap, and then Harry’s wet fingers were rubbing at his entrance, this time circling the rim with purpose, one fingertip dipping in briefly. Louis clutched Harry’s shoulders as a fleeting moment of panic seized him, a moment of _Am I sure I want this?_ Harry looked him in the eyes, as though sensing it; he _did_ sense it, Louis could tell by the crease of his brow that Harry was about to ask if he was sure. 

Louis smiled and leaned up for more kisses, making a soft noise of approval. As Harry slowly eased a finger in, Louis almost started laughing at how absurdly comfortable he was with Harry, how entirely he trusted him, how much he wanted this with him. He threw his head back as Harry murmured sweet words that could’ve been nonsense for all Louis could focus, and one finger became two as Louis moaned for more. 

Penetration had never been painful for Louis, but having a partner who knew what he was doing took it from ‘not bad’ to ‘fan _fucking_ tastic’. He whimpered and lifted his hips, his cock hard and leaking. He wanted to ride Harry’s fingers all night. He wanted to see if he could take three, maybe even four. His eyes were clenched shut; he forced them open and strained his neck to look down. 

“You want to see?” Harry grunted, and Louis was shocked by how dark his eyes were, how wild he looked. He was propped one arm, but shifted back to grab Louis’ thigh and bend him nearly in half. Louis hooked his hands behind his knees obligingly, holding the position. His cock was so hard that it pressed flat against his abdomen; Harry licked a flat stripe up it before sitting back on his heels. 

The sight of Harry’s fingers sliding in and out of him fascinated Louis; he didn’t even notice how shallowly he was breathing until Harry took them out and said, “Turn over.” 

Harry helped him reposition on his knees and elbows. He heard the click and squirt of the lube again, and Harry said, “I’m gonna fuck you like this, okay?” 

He inhaled sharply, and Harry petted the small of his back and said, “No, like this. Like this.” Louis relaxed when Harry’s fingers re-entered him, slicker and more demanding, and he rocked back onto them, welcoming the quickly-building rhythm. Harry reached around for Louis’ cock, stroking him just right. If he were more coherent, he’d marvel at how fucking _good_ Harry was at this; how he knew exactly what to do to push him to further heights. Harry’s fucked-out voice was telling him how amazing he looked riding Harry’s fingers, how much he wanted to suck Louis again and have him come all over his face, and that, along with the filthy twist of his fingers and slide of his palm, sent Louis careening over the edge, coming so hard he swore he saw stars. 

Before he could collapse in exhaustion, Harry’s body was cloaking his, pressing him down into the mattress, cock was grinding against Louis’ arse. He was still trembling through the aftershocks of his orgasm, unable to do much to assist Harry, but he reached back and held Harry’s thigh, encouraging him. 

Harry was panting Louis’ name and cursing, praising him, making little whiny noises as he frotted against him. “I wanna come all over your arse. Can I?” 

Louis’ breath caught; he had to clear his throat to mumble, “Yeah.” 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come all over you. I wanna come in your mouth. Can you suck me?” Harry rambled. 

“Yeah, come here,” Louis said, trying to roll over. Harry got off of him and quickly scooted up the bed and into position. Once Louis had his hands and mouth on Harry, a rush of lust spurred him on. He relaxed his jaw and took pleasure in the heady taste and stretch of Harry’s big, thick cock; the glint of awed desperation in his gaze. He eased off reluctantly when Harry said he was close. Louis kept his eyes and mouth open as Harry came, wanting to see him fall apart. No sooner had the last hot spurt hit Louis’ cheek than Harry was scrambling atop him, holding him close to lick him clean and kiss him deeply. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Harry rasped, sliding his hands up and down Louis’ back and arse. 

Louis chuckled. “You’re gonna have a sore throat tomorrow.” 

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll be perfect,” Harry said, kissing him again. Louis let himself be swept away by it. They weren’t drunk this time, and the terms of the tryst were clear to them both. It could be perfect if they let it be, or at least that’s how it felt in that moment. 

* 

When he awoke, it took him a second to remember where he was, and then another to realise he was alone. He rolled out of bed gingerly and was surprised to find that he wasn’t sore _down there_. He felt rather brilliant, actually, well-fucked and energised. He found Harry on the sofa watching a children’s programme on the telly and eating a bowl of cornflakes, completely nude. 

“Morning,” Harry said, his cheek dimpling. 

Louis grunted and curled up next to him, letting Harry feed him a spoonful of cereal. 

“I was about to wake you,” Harry said, feeding him one more spoonful before setting the bowl on the coffee table. “We have to hurry.” 

“Let’s skip uni and stay here all day,” Louis said, knowing Harry would never agree to it. 

“We have work, too,” Harry reminded him, ruffling his hair. 

“That’s not till afternoon,” Louis said. “We could sixty-nine all morning and order pizza for lunch.” 

“Who could resist an offer like that?” Harry teased, pushing Louis’ fringe off his forehead and dropping a kiss there. 

Louis looked up at him, surprised. “Really?” 

Harry laughed and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “Yeah, fuck it. I can miss one day.” 

“Since when?” Louis asked. Harry was usually so uptight about his studies. He didn’t seem to enjoy revising or attending lectures, but he did so with the fortitude of one driven to succeed in any endeavour. 

“Since last night was amazing, and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for shit even if I went, now that you’ve promised me a blowjob,” Harry said, cupping the back of Louis’ head, eyes fixed on his lips. 

“Promised you? It was merely a suggestion,” Louis said. “And you’re not getting any six unless I get some nine, so don’t think you’re not putting that pretty mouth of yours to use.” 

“Gladly,” Harry said lowly, and Louis gulped. 

“You don’t expect me to perform on empty stomach, do you?” he said, shoving Harry shoulder. “Go make me a proper breakfast.” 

Harry stood and got about two steps away before Louis was reaching out and hauling him back down. Harry’s grin was impish and as tempting as the rest of him, and Louis gave in with a grin of his own. 

* 

The next few days passed in a giddy blur. Louis had known he missed having someone with whom to share a bed, and orgasms, and kisses, and sexual innuendos that led to actual sex, but he hadn’t realised quite how much he missed it until he had those things again. Harry made no secret of how much he desired Louis, and the simplest text or touch or _look_ from him kept Louis buzzing ‘round the clock, feeling sexy in a way he never had before. He considered himself an attractive guy, but Harry was fucking gorgeous; he turned heads and captured hearts just by walking in a room, and having the most desirable guy he’d ever known panting after him made Louis feel like an absolute minx. 

It wasn’t just their bedroom activities, although those were rather earth-shattering. Louis was firm on his no-visible-love-bites policy, but Harry wasn’t deterred, instead marking Louis’ body – his chest and hips and inner thighs. Harry had spent Tuesday evening sucking a trail of bruises along the curve of Louis’ spine while finger-fucking him into oblivion. Louis almost couldn’t stand the sight of Harry’s fingers anymore; he got so worked up remembering how they felt inside of him. 

Louis’d had good sex before, but this was on another level. It wasn’t just the discovery that “Tis Far Better to Give Than to Receive” was a big fat stinking lie when it came to arse-play. They shared a wavelength; similarities of temperament and taste that bled into the bedroom. Louis never had to hesitate or worry; if he were to ever do something Harry didn’t like, he trusted that Harry would speak up about it and not hold it against him. They could go from laughing to fucking to wrestling for the last slice of pizza with unparalleled ease. He could throw on his favourite pair of joggers that he’d had since secondary school, the faded ones with the ketchup stain, and Harry would ask him if he knew how, “fucking _hot_ your arse looks in those, Lou, jesus, c’mere.” 

The friendship was still there, the home-cooked meals and reality telly and revision sessions. There were just a lot more kisses before and after, and hands were allowed to sneak under clothing to pet skin during their usual cuddles. It wasn’t new to sling their arms around each other’s shoulders, but Harry now kept Louis tucked under his arm at every opportunity; it was an essential part of any bus ride or walk to Tesco. 

Niall came by the tea shop on Friday under pretence of visiting his ex-coworkers, but Louis knew better. Sure enough, when he went to wipe down the tables, Niall cornered him. “So, did y’move in with Harry or what?” 

“He’s got better furniture than us,” Louis said, trying to joke it off. 

“A better bed, you mean?” Niall said knowingly. 

He snapped Niall with the damp dishcloth he was using, making him jump back, and said, “What do you care? You’re the one who told me to go for it.” 

“So did you? You two together now?” Niall pried. 

“No, we’re friends. With benefits, or whatever,” Louis said. 

Niall didn’t reply right away, and Louis shot him an annoyed look. “What?” 

Niall shrugged. “Does Harry know that?” 

“Yeah, of course!” Louis said exasperatedly. “He’s fine with it. Not like I’m his first one; doubt I’ll be his last.” 

“You still seeing that DJ?” Niall said. “Does he know?” 

“Yeah, I’m seeing him tomorrow. And no, I guess technically he doesn’t know… but we’re not exclusive or anything. We've not even texted that much lately,” Louis said. He didn’t add the reason, which was that he’d been too distracted by Harry to text anyone else much. 

“He’s sending you to the Teen Awards,” Niall said, and the vague disapproval in his voice annoyed Louis. 

“I know he is,” he snapped. “Look, I hate to kill your dream of becoming the Irish Oprah, but if I want your opinion on my love life, I’ll beat it out of you. Until then, leave it.” 

“Mouthy li'l cunt, you are.” Niall swatted at him. “You coming home tonight?” 

Louis frowned at the table he was cleaning. “Probably not. I’ll be by tomorrow after work to get dressed.” 

“Not like I miss you,” Niall said. “Got me own bed and can sleep as nude as I want.” 

Louis tried not to smile, thinking of how he and Harry slept nude. In fact, Harry was a bit of an exhibitionist, often lounging around the flat without a shred of clothing or shame. 

“Oi, hook me up with a muffin?” Niall asked. 

“Always something with you,” Louis griped, but obliged. 

* 

Louis slipped out of bed without disturbing Harry on Saturday morning and managed to get to work only five minutes late. He was proud of himself for that, considering he and Harry had been up until three in the morning playing FIFA, drinking beer, and blowing each other on the sofa. There was a mini-rush of customers during the first two hours, students stopping by on their way to the university library, no doubt. After that, he turned on some music and started in on the shop’s weekend To Do list. He was crouched behind the counter, replenishing the stacks of cups they kept there, when the door opened. 

“One moment!” he called, quickly finishing the task and standing, his mood instantly improving when he saw the new arrival. “What are you doing here?” 

“I knew it, you little thief,” Harry said, leaning over the counter and grabbing the strings of Louis’ hoodie – correction, the string of _Harry’s_ hoodie. 

“It’s comfortable,” Louis protested, smiling as Harry used the strings to pull him into a kiss. “You didn’t really come all the way here for that?” 

“Nope,” Harry agreed. “I have a surprise for you.” 

“What kind of surprise?” Louis said happily. 

Harry bent down for a moment and came back with a football. “Ta da!” 

“A football,” Louis said. 

“It’s for you,” Harry said. 

“For me?” Louis said, taking it from him. It was black and light green, and as he read the logo, he realised it was glow-in-the-dark. “Aw, sick!” 

“We could go to that playground tonight and use it,” Harry suggested. 

“Oh, uh… I can’t tonight,” Louis said. “Tomorrow?” 

“Sure,” Harry said easily, but drummed his fingers on the counter before asking, “Big plans?” 

“Not really,” Louis said. “Going out with Greg.” 

Greg was good company and so were his friends; it was sure to be a nice evening of expensive wine and stimulating conversation. So why was Louis disappointed that he couldn’t kick around a glow-in-the-dark football with Harry on a playground? 

“Maybe if I don’t get back too late?” Louis tried, hoping it wasn’t insulting to offer. It wasn’t like there was any chance he’d go home with Greg. Even if he wanted to, he was covered in love bites; not a great first impression for a potential boyfriend. 

“Nah, it’s fine. Caroline and Nick were trying to get me to come out tonight, anyway,” Harry said. “Guess I might as well.” 

Her name was like a punch to Louis’ stomach, although it shouldn’t have been. He didn’t have any right to be… territorial. Harry pulled out his phone, presumably to text her, and Louis tried not to smack it out of his hand. He put the football on the counter, got out his own phone and texted Greg; it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure what time he was being picked up. 

The reply came promptly, but it caught him off guard. 

_8 ok? I was about to call you… just got some awkward news. My ex is coming tonight. She’s friends with Laura but I didn’t even know she was in town until a few min ago. We’re still friends so all that’s fine, but we don’t have to go if it’s weird for you?_

It _was_ weird for Louis, honestly, but he didn’t feel like he had the right to be unaccommodating, considering he’d spent every night that week in Harry’s bed. 

_no worries. more the merrier. 8 is fine. c u then_

The reply to that came even faster, apologetic and grateful, and it made Louis grimace guiltily. He didn’t think that Greg was taking their dating as anything serious, not yet. Their interactions were almost more friendly than flirtatious, and he’d made no attempt to see Louis during the past few days. For all Louis knew, Greg might have a Harry— or Caroline – of his own. He seemed to be testing the waters while doing his own thing, the same as Louis, but Niall had made Louis paranoid. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He looked up, startled, and found Harry watching him concernedly. “Oh. Nothing.” 

“You can tell me,” Harry assured him. “I don’t mind… if it’s about Greg or something.” 

“Why would you?” Louis said testily, immediately regretting it when Harry looked hurt. He grabbed the football and rounded the counter. “Come on.” 

“Where?” Harry asked. 

“To the birds,” Louis said, and Harry wordlessly followed him to the field across the road. Louis dropped the ball in the grass and began to dribble it, glancing back at Harry. “Well? Show me what you got, Styles.” 

Harry ended up not having much to show; he was a pretty mediocre footballer. It was fun, though, because he tried hard and made a fuss over Louis’ talent, asking him to teach him tricks and tips to improve his footwork. They played for nearly twenty minutes, until Louis spotted two girls entering the tea shop and had to race back to serve them. He’d left the ball and Harry’s hoodie behind, but Harry returned carrying both. 

Once the girls were gone, Louis fetched two bottles of water and joined Harry at a table. “Thanks for the ball.” 

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, and Louis stared as he gulped down half the bottle. He really was gorgeous; his long neck elegant and masculine. 

“Are you friends with your ex-girlfriends?” Louis blurted. 

“What?” Harry said. 

“No, I mean… Greg’s friends with his ex-girlfriend. I didn’t even know he dated women. That’s fine, I guess. I don’t anymore, but I did when I was younger. I’m not on bad terms with my ex-, but I don’t really keep in touch with her,” Louis said. “My ex-boyfriends, I guess… depends on the guy. I’ve only had about four that I would call proper boyfriends. It’s sort of the same deal; we’re not on bad terms but we don’t stay in touch.” 

Harry nodded and picked at the label on his water bottle. 

“What about you?” Louis said. 

“Uh, no,” Harry said. 

“You’re not friends with them? Do you keep in touch at all?” Louis said. “I mean, besides Caroline. If that counts.” 

“Caroline wasn’t my girlfriend,” Harry said. “I haven’t had one.” 

“Ever?” Louis said, surprised. 

“Not really, no,” he said. “I’m not really interested.” 

“How many boyfriends, then?” Louis said. 

“I haven’t had one of those either,” Harry said. 

“So you’ve never had a relationship at all?” Louis said incredulously, taken aback. Harry got defencive if Louis brought up their age difference, arguing that two years was nothing, but more than the years, there was something young about Harry. Louis had grown up fast, the only son of a single mother, with four younger sisters; he’d always felt a bit older than his age. Harry was the youngest child of a doting mother and it showed; there was something almost naïve about his candor and gentleness. 

Naiveté wasn’t a luxury Louis had felt he could afford in life. By Harry’s age, he’d had two long-term relationships. He knew about commitment and working through problems. He knew that he found not just the sex but the emotional connection more fulfilling with a male partner. He knew the difference between infatuation and love. Maybe he had yet to experience the soul-encompassing true love he yearned for, but he was ready for it. 

If Louis had harbored secret hopes about him and Harry possibly becoming something more someday (when Harry was a little older and off the party scene and over the whole fuckbuddies phase of his sexual life), this certainly dampened them. Louis had no interest in being someone’s first boyfriend; he wanted to be someone’s last. 

“I’m the kind of person who’s only going to fall in love once,” Harry said, with that pure-hearted confidence Louis found so endearing. 

“Everyone thinks that when they’re young,” he said. “I used to think that, too.” 

“Have you been in love?” Harry said. 

“I’ve thought I was… twice,” Louis said. “And now in hindsight, I can see that I loved them but I wasn’t _in_ love.” 

“So then it could still be true,” Harry reasoned. 

“Harry,” Louis said, trying not to laugh or sound condescending. “You won’t really understand relationships until you’ve had one. Then you’ll see.” 

“See what?” Harry said. 

“That it’s more complicated. Love isn’t… easy,” Louis said. 

“It can be,” Harry insisted. “I’d do anything for the person I love, to keep them happy. I’d take care of them. I’d never hurt them.” 

“Sometimes you don’t want to hurt someone but it happens anyway,” Louis said, growing impatient with Harry’s blind optimism. “You just don’t get it. You’ll understand when you’re—” 

“Older?” Harry said sourly. 

“More experienced,” Louis finished. 

Harry scowled at the tabletop for a moment, then checked his wristwatch and stood. “I should go.” 

“Anytime I say something you don’t like—” Louis started. 

“I have work,” Harry cut in. 

“Oh,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

“Well,” he said, standing up hesitantly. He was accustomed to parting with a kiss now, but he wasn’t sure if Harry would want that… if Louis _should_ want it himself. 

Harry sighed and stepped closer, and Louis looked up at him. He pushed Louis’ fringe to the side and kissed his forehead; Louis knew that it was on the small freckle there. It was something Harry liked to do, always followed by a kiss on the tip of Louis’ nose and one on his lips. This time, he went from Louis’ nose to his cheek. When he stepped back, Louis instinctively clutched the front of his shirt to stop him. Harry faltered, then leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. 

“Bye,” Louis said quietly, letting Harry move away. 

“Bye,” Harry said. “Have fun on your date.” 

There was no reproach in his tone, but Louis didn’t know how to respond. 

“Night football tomorrow, yeah?” Harry said, offering a half-smile. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis said, smiling back. “Thanks again for the ball.” 

“My pleasure, mate,” Harry said. 

Louis watched him leave, then stashed the ball and Harry’s hoodie behind the counter and went back to the To Do list. For once, he was grateful for counting inventory and refilling dispensers; it was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He’d had a wonderful past few days, filled with excitement and satisfaction; he didn’t want to ruin it by stopping to think. He just wanted to feel good. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. So what was he doing, dating a guy who dated girls, who was perfectly happy to see him once a week, who hadn’t even tried to do more than kiss him yet? What was he doing getting caught up with another guy who had multiple fuckbuddies and had never been in an actual relationship? As he’d told Harry, sometimes people get hurt unintentionally. He couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that in this situation, the one who’d end up hurt would be himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who take the time to leave comments. It's always interesting to hear your thoughts and I appreciate your support<33 Thank you for the kudos, too! xx


	8. Chapter 8

Louis had been pleasantly surprised when they’d arrived at The Ivy. If he was destined to have an awkward evening, at least it would be at one of his favourite restaurants. He was further mollified when Greg led him upstairs to a private room with an open bar, a baby grand piano in the corner, elegant flower arrangements, and best of all, multiple tables. They greeted Laura first, finding her already flushed and giggly from white wine, before heading to the bar themselves. Drinks in hand, they looked for their place cards. He was relieved by the arranged seating; for all of Greg’s assurance that they were on good terms, Louis didn’t relish the thought of encountering Greg’s ex-girlfriend. 

He scanned the room, wondering if she was already there, and if she knew that Greg dated men. He wondered how many of the people in this room knew that Louis was Greg’s date; if Greg would introduce him as a “friend”. He wanted to take out his phone and text Harry random nonsense to distract himself, but he didn’t want to be rude. 

“You alright?” Greg asked him. 

“Yeah, fine,” Louis said, forcing a smile. “Sorry, yeah. Bit warm. Might take off my jacket.” 

He stood to shrug out of it, and Greg helped him remove it and hung it on the back of Louis’ chair. “You look fit in a suit, by the way.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Louis said. “Will I embarrass you if I roll up my sleeves?” 

“By all means,” Greg said. 

Another couple joined them at the table, a very pregnant DJ whose name Louis vaguely recognised, and her husband. As the room filled and the drinks flowed, Louis was honestly enjoying himself. Everyone at the table was about a decade older than him, but they were a lively and interesting group. The DJ, Fearne, brought up Louis’ trip to the radio station, saying there’d been a buzz on twitter about how funny he’d been. 

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” Louis said. 

“I’m dead serious! See for yourself,” Fearne said, taking out her phone. She pulled up the Radio One twitter mentions and scrolled until she found a tweet. “See, look!” 

Sure enough, right there on the screen: 

**Anyi @angiewitha_y:**

**Louis T is so funny & FIT!! Put up more pics PLEASE @gregjames! He & @grimmers need to do a show together. I'd die!!! #DreamTeam @BBCR1 **

“Grimmers, Grimmy,” Greg explained. “Nick.” 

“Oh god, not sure I’d survive that, myself,” Louis joked. 

Fearne laughed and started typing on her phone. “Speaking of, where is that little prat? He swore me he’d be here by nine.” 

A roar kicked up on the far side of the room, and she looked over her shoulder and said, “Speak of the devil!” 

There was Nick, followed by a small entourage, and this time Louis recognised most of them. It was the twins, Lou and Sam, Tom, Caroline, two guys that Louis didn't recognise… and Harry. He looked ridiculously handsome suited and booted, like he’d just stepped off of a high fashion runway. He wore a dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt, perfectly tailored to his build, and Louis could hardly reconcile this Harry with the punk rocker in torn blue jeans. 

After kissing Laura hello, the group began to make their way to a table across the room, when Fearne called out, “Don’t make the preggo come all the way to you, you arse!” 

“There’s the little mummy!” Nick called back, making his way over with the group trailing him. Louis’ gaze stayed locked on Harry, and the way Harry’s eyes widened when he spotted him let him know that he was equally shocked at this turn of events. Nick seemed amused to see Louis, saying, “Well, if it isn’t our new student correspondent, looking rather dashing all dolled up. What are you doing sitting with these boring old sods? You’d have much more fun at the kids' table with me.” 

“Who are you calling boring and old?” Fearne said, smacking him. 

“Love, I meant it as the highest compliment,” Nick claimed. “I can only dream of being as happily boring and old as all you lucky married folk someday.” 

“You do know I’m single and two years _younger_ than you?” Greg said. 

“Of course,” Nick said easily, “But now that Louis’s basically your employee, I know you wouldn’t dream of dipping your wick into the company ink. So better he come join me at my table, where there’s plenty of eligible wicks and ink to go around.” 

“I’d rather my wick and ink not be a topic of discussion, thanks,” Louis said, staring firmly at Nick now, not wanting to see Harry’s reaction. 

“Alright, well, if you change your mind,” Nick said breezily, and Louis rolled his eyes and then darted a glance at Harry, who was letting Caroline take his arm and lead him to their table. He thought he saw a frown on Harry’s face, but it could’ve been his imagination, because not a moment later, he was smiling at whatever Caroline was whispering to him. 

“Another beer?” Greg asked, standing and looking down at Louis. 

“Sure – actually, uh, make that vodka and Coke,” he said. His phone buzzed as he watched Greg head to the bar, and Louis pulled it out of his pocket to find a text from Harry. 

_sorry I had no idea u’d be here_

He glanced over at Harry, but he was sat facing the other direction, and all Louis could see of him was his broad shoulders and his lovely curls. He quickly typed a reply. 

_u dont need to apologise curly these r ur friends u have every rite to be here. its not like I mind having my best mate at the same party as me :) make sure u try the crab cakes their even better than the ones we had at that one place x_

It was true, Louis never minded having Harry around. Even when it meant having Harry sit at another table with Caroline at his side, laughing and smiling at people who weren’t Louis, and being unable to join him because it might embarrass Greg. Or maybe it wouldn’t, because Greg hadn’t introduced him as his date, had been unerringly considerate and companionable but hadn’t touched him in any way but platonically. A laddy pat on the shoulder, an elbow nudge. There were little remarks and looks that made it obvious Greg found him attractive, but it lacked… intent. That was the difference: if Harry told Louis he looked good in a suit, it would be clear that he thought the suit would look even better on his bedroom floor. 

Louis was drinking too much; he knew that. He knew he should slow down and eat more and not make an arse of himself, but he couldn’t help it. Holding a drink gave him something to do with his hands, and he’d do so with every intention of sipping it slowly, only to notice minutes later that he’d drained the glass. By the time the cake was brought out and they were all singing _Happy Birthday_ , he was too tipsy to remember Laura’s name and accidentally said ‘Lisa’. He could only hope no one heard. 

As waiters delivered slices of cake to the guests, the people at Laura’s table started chanting, “Do it! Do it!” and Laura cried, “You _have_ to! As a gift to me, please?” 

The chanting turned to cheering as a pretty blonde woman went to sit at the piano in the corner. People got up from their tables to gather around, cocktails and plates of cake in hand, to watch her perform, including everyone at his table. Greg stayed seated, so Louis did, too. He assumed she’d just be playing piano, but when she began to sing, his jaw dropped. 

“Wow,” he said. “Is she a professional?” 

Greg nodded tensely, and Louis noticed. “Oh, is she…?” 

“Yeah,” Greg said abashedly. 

“It’s fine,” Louis told him. “I knew she’d be here. Doesn’t bother me at all.” 

Greg smiled, looking relieved. “Would you like to go watch?” 

“In a minute,” he said. “How long ago did you break up?” 

“Um… three months or so?” Greg said. “I mean, it’s definitely over, that’s not—” 

“I was just curious,” Louis said. “How long were you together?” 

“About six years,” Greg said. 

“Jesus!” Louis swore. 

“Yeah,” Greg said. 

“Can I ask what happened, or?” Louis said. His longest relationships had lasted two years each, and he’d been a teenager during them. They were a lot of work, a struggle to keep himself and his partners happy, and he’d considered himself experienced with long-term commitment. He suddenly felt foolish for ever having thought himself wise, unable to fathom the amount of work that must go into six years with the same person. 

“Her career picked up. She started touring a lot; we grew apart,” Greg said. “By the time we finally ended it, we’d already sort of mourned it and were ready, if you know what I mean.” 

And that was the thing: Louis had no fucking clue. He’d dumped his girlfriend after two years because he was off to college and wanted to try out boys. He’d broken up with his boyfriend after two years because he was done with college and off to London for university. If he spent six years of his adult life with someone, he couldn’t imagine simply mourning it and moving on; allowing it to end with a whimper. 

He fought back the urge to say, _You must not have truly loved her_ , knowing how naïve it would sound. But honestly, how could he have loved her, if he let them grow apart? If he loved her, he should’ve held on with everything he had, should’ve pulled her closer and grown together. 

“Do you keep in touch with her at all?” he said instead. 

“Here and there,” Greg said. “We text every now and then, just checking in. I was a bit surprised she didn’t let me know she was back in town. Apparently, she’s been here for a week. I don’t know if it’s because she heard I started dating or…” 

“It’s okay if you want to go talk to her,” Louis said. 

Greg made a face and shook his head, but Louis insisted, “No, really. You should. When’s the last time you saw her?” 

“A few months,” Greg said. 

“Then definitely, yeah,” Louis said. “I mean, you had six years together and you’re still on good terms. You can’t just not talk to her!” 

“You know, you’re cute when you’re drunk,” Greg said. 

“I’m not,” Louis laughed, but he was, a bit. “In fact, go watch her. I need another drink.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Greg said, standing when Louis did. 

“No,” said Louis stubbornly, pushing him toward the crowd. “Go. I’ll be fine. There’s people I know here; I’ll keep myself busy.” 

“Ah, now it makes sense. You’re trying to pawn me off on my ex-girlfriend so you can get pissed at the open bar with Harry,” Greg said. 

Louis looked up sharply, but Greg was smiling. Louis rolled his eyes and pushed him again. “You caught me. Want me to get you another beer?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Greg said, and touched Louis’ elbow before going to stand with the people gathered around the piano. 

At the bar, Louis ordered a double vodka Coke and a shot of anything. “Surprise me,” he told the barman, and ended up gagging on some dark concoction that left his throat burning. 

“Two questions,” he gasped. “What the hell was that and why do you hate me?” 

“C’mon, lad,” the barman chuckled. “It’ll put some hair on y’chest.” 

“Should’ve known better than to trust a City fan,” Louis said, taking a long sip of his cocktail to remove the aftertaste. 

After two more mystery shots, each more revolting than the last, and each with the promise of growing hair on various parts of his anatomy, Louis was full-on drunk and arguing loudly about whether City could take Man United in the upcoming match. He tried to drag unsuspecting guests into the argument, innocent people who simply wanted to get a drink and go back to mingling with their friends, and eventually the barman asked him to go do the same. “No offence, mate, but I might lose my job if I keep serving you.” 

“You’re cutting me off?” Louis exclaimed. 

“I’ll do you one more beer,” the barman said. “but make it last.” 

Louis rolled his eyes but took the beer and turned toward the room. He saw Harry standing with Sam and a few people he didn’t recognise. Harry glanced at him and then quickly away, as if he hadn’t meant to get caught, and Louis rolled his eyes again and thought, _fuck it_. 

He marched up to Harry and bumped into him purposely, tilting his head to indicate he wanted Harry to follow him into a corner of the room where they could speak in relative privacy. He let Harry back him into the corner and looked up at him impishly. “Hey.” 

Harry’s brow was slightly furrowed, his eyes darting across Louis’ face. “Hey… you okay?” 

Louis laughed at Harry’s worried expression. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to talk to you. Is that not allowed?” 

“Of course it is,” Harry said. “You know you can always talk to me.” 

“But you’ve been _ignoring_ me all night,” Louis said, aiming for playful, but frowning despite himself. “You haven’t even looked at me.” 

“That’s not true,” Harry said quietly. “I didn’t want to interfere, that’s all.” 

Louis reached out and tugged on the lapel of Harry’s suit jacket. “Maybe I want you to interfere.” 

Harry bit his lip and looked down, shaking his head slightly. There were tiny white blossoms scattered in his hair, baby’s breath. He looked so sexy in his suit, Louis had the sudden and overwhelming urge to suck Harry’s dick through the fly of his trousers. He tugged harder on the lapel. “You clean up nice.” 

Harry’s lips curled at that and, it was hard to tell in this lighting, but Louis thought he might be blushing just a bit. “You, too.” 

“Really? I’ve had this suit since my college graduation,” Louis said. He slid his hand slowly down Harry’s lapel and then turned around. “Trousers don’t fit properly anymore… too tight in the arse, don’t you think?” 

He looked over his shoulder and smirked at the way Harry’s eyes were glued to Louis’ arse. “Well?” he prompted. 

Harry tried to talk but choked briefly, cleared his throat and mumbled, “Uh… no, it’s…brilliant.” 

Louis snickered and turned back around, Harry’s eyes flying up to meet his, and he quickly put on an innocent expression. “Brilliant or not, they’re still too tight. I couldn’t even wear pants underneath.” 

Louis would’ve paid good money to have a video of Harry at that moment, to capture the range of emotions that crossed his face, from stunned to lustful to annoyed, as he came to realise that Louis was toying with him. “You’re a twat.” 

Louis laughed and poked him in the belly. “A twat with a brilliant arse.” 

Harry made an irritated noise and ducked his head to hide his smile, but didn’t deny it. 

Louis took Harry in again, from head to toe. Jesus, he looked good. “Come on, let’s go somewhere.” 

Harry looked up at that, quizzically. 

“Let’s go. Let’s leave,” Louis said. “Take me home.” 

Harry stared at Louis, and eventually said, “You’ve already got someone to take you home.” 

It genuinely took Louis a moment to realise he meant Greg. “Well… yeah…” 

“You can’t just ditch him,” Harry said. 

“I’ll tell him I feel sick and you’re helping me out,” Louis said. 

“But that’s a lie,” Harry said. 

“It’s not like he’ll find out,” Louis said exasperatedly. 

“I’m not going to do that to him,” Harry said. “If you want to text me after your date is over, you can.” 

“No need. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to tuck me in,” Louis sneered. “You’ve other entertainment lined up for the night, yeah?” 

He pushed past Harry, annoyed and stinging from the rejection, and yanked his arm free when Harry tried to grab it. “Louis.” 

“Fuck off!” he snapped. “I’m on a _date_.” 

It was easy to spot Greg’s tall figure in the crowd, and he stumbled toward him, bumping into a couple of chairs along the way. He could sense Harry following him but he didn’t turn around. Once he got to Greg’s side, he took his arm and said, “Hey, can we—” and then nearly groaned aloud when he saw whose conversation he was interrupting. 

“There he is!” Nick said, slinging a friendly arm around Louis and pulling him away from Greg. “I was wondering where you’d scampered off to. Thought you might’ve met a bad end on a trip to the toilets. Or ran off to have fun with boys your own age, rather than wasting a Saturday night with Old Man Gregory.” 

“If I’m old, then what are you?” Greg said. “And since when is twenty-six old?” 

“What you lack in years, you make up for with a tragic surplus of decorum,” Nick told him haughtily. “Unlike me, who has my eternal immaturity to keep me young.” 

“Just because he gets a decent amount of sleep on a regular basis doesn’t mean he’s boring,” a woman with garish orange hair said. 

“That’s exactly what it means, Aimee!” Nick insisted. “Louis, you should come out with us tomorrow night. We’ll show you a good time. Won’t we, Harry?” 

Louis looked over at Harry, who shrugged and avoided everyone’s eyes. Vexed and foolhardy, Louis said, “Yeah, sure. Why not?” 

“I can’t make it,” Greg told him apologetically. “I’ve got a—” 

“Who invited you?” Nick interrupted. “You’d hate it anyway. It’s one of those ultra-exclusive parties that you whinge all night anytime you actually come along.” 

“You mean a hipster rave at some ridiculously trendy nightclub, with underage fashion models drinking goat saliva because it’s the hot new thing? So sorry I can’t make it,” Greg said. 

“Fashion models and goat saliva, is that what the kids are into these days, grandad?” Nick laughed. 

Louis found himself laughing along, finishing the last of his beer and handing the empty bottle to Greg, who took it and said, “Shall I get you another?” 

“No, let’s—” Louis didn’t glance at Harry, but he wanted to; could feel Harry watching and was glad he was hearing this. “Let’s go. I’m ready to go home.” 

When he tried to step away, Nick tightened his arm. “The night’s still young.” 

“And so am I,” Louis said, pulling himself free and baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I didn’t say I wanted to sleep.” 

Surprisingly, Nick didn’t crack a joke. Instead, he looked faintly disapproving, and Louis didn’t know what to make of that, but he didn’t much care. He echoed the goodbyes Greg offered everyone, including the one to Harry. There was a cheap and vindictive satisfaction in bidding him the same generic, “G’night,” as he did the people he barely knew. 

They made their way around the room, a blur of faces and holding Greg’s arm just to keep himself upright. By the time they retrieved Louis’ jacket and were downstairs waiting on the kerb for the valet to fetch Greg’s car, the alcohol had settled into his system and Louis was an outright mess. He felt awful for having been so nasty to Harry. He wanted to run back to the party and apologise for always acting like such a shit when he drank. He wanted to text Harry and tell him that he had no intentions of letting anyone else tuck him in. He wanted to ask Harry to come take him home, not even for sex, but because he didn’t want to go home with anyone else. He didn’t want to sleep in his own flat. He wanted Harry’s bed, with the duvet that smelled like him, and Harry’s body spooning behind him, and the soothing sound of his faint snoring. 

But Harry was upstairs with Caroline, and he’d already said no to leaving with Louis. He didn’t want to; didn’t want Louis as much as Louis wanted him. Louis shook his head, trying to clear it of stupid depressing thoughts, and ran out into the street. “Let’s go somewhere!” 

“Woah!” Greg cried, hurrying to catch him by the arm and drag him back to the kerb. “Fuck’s sake, Louis, you could’ve been hit by a car!” 

“No one’s coming,” Louis said, and as if to prove him wrong, a taxi sped by. “Well, no one _was_ coming.” 

He tried to pull his arm free, but Greg had him in an iron grip. “Ow. Let’s go somewhere. I need a beer.” 

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” Greg said patiently. 

“Oh, you do, do you?” Louis said. “Who died and made you king?” 

“The previous king,” Greg said, and it wasn’t even funny, but Louis laughed loudly. He knew he was being obnoxious, but he was too drunk to stop himself. 

“You’re too bloody tall,” Louis said, tilting his head back to gaze up at Greg. “You’re like… all the way up there.” 

The valet pulled up, and Greg walked Louis to the passenger side and helped him into his seat before getting in. “Can you buckle your seatbelt?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Louis said, managing it after only three attempts. “Ha! Nailed it!” 

“Very good,” Greg praised. “Open bar got the best of you tonight.” 

“I’m fine,” Louis said. “So, hey, tell me how it went.” 

“Hmm?” Greg said distractedly, waiting for a car to pass before merging into traffic. 

“Your ex-. Did you talk to her?” Louis said. 

“Oh… yeah. It was fine. She’s doing well. She’s seeing someone new; I guess that’s why she didn’t call me when she came into town,” Greg said. 

“You don’t sound like you care,” Louis said. 

“I don’t,” Greg said. “I’m glad she’s doing well, but I don’t mind if she’s moved on. I figured it wouldn’t take her as long as me to get into a new relationship. She hates to be alone.” 

“Being alone sucks,” Louis said. “How many people have you slept with since her?” 

“I feel like we’re playing Twenty Questions,” Greg said, half-seriously. 

“Have they all been guys?” Louis said. 

“I haven’t dated a guy since before her, not since college,” Greg said. “And I haven’t slept with anyone. You’re the first person I’ve asked out since the break up.” 

“The first person in three months?” Louis said, surprised. 

“I’m in no rush to get into another relationship,” Greg shrugged. 

“So you asked me out because you know you wouldn’t want a relationship with me,” Louis said dully. 

Greg looked at him in alarm. “No, that’s not—! I honestly had no plans to date anytime soon, but I met you and I couldn’t resist. I asked you out because you’re attractive and I like spending time with you.” 

Louis stared at him blankly, and Greg continued, “I mean, yeah, I’m not looking for anything serious right now, so maybe your age was a part of the appeal. A university student’s obviously not looking to settle down, and neither am I, at the moment. It’s not— I don’t want you to think I’m only trying to get you into bed—” 

“Trust me, I don’t,” Louis said flatly. He softened at Greg’s awkward expression. “I like spending time with you, too.” 

Greg shook his head. “I feel like I’ve ruined things, somehow.” 

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Louis said. “But you know, you were my age when you started off with your ex-. Did you hope it would last?” 

Greg nodded, eyes on the road. “I suppose I did, yeah.” 

“And it would be fine if you didn’t, because twenty’s young enough to not want it to last forever,” Louis said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “But it’s old enough to hope it will, too.” 

Greg stayed quiet after that, and so did Louis, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. When the car came to a stop outside of Louis’ building, Greg said, “Would you like me to walk you upstairs?” 

“You mean, am I too drunk to make it on my own?” Louis smiled. “I can handle it, thanks. And I’m sorry I was a lousy date and made an arse of myself in front of your friends.” 

“Oh god, please. Half of them were drunker than you,” Greg said, smiling back. 

“Alright, then. Goodnight,” Louis said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He paused, then leaned over and pecked Greg’s lips. 

He got out of the car and was shutting the door when Greg said, “Hey, um—?” 

Louis bent down to see his face. “Yeah?” 

“You should stop by the studio next week, if you can. Can’t disappoint your fans,” Greg said lightly, a hopeful note in his voice. 

“I’d love to,” Louis said sincerely. After promising to text, they said their goodnights and Greg drove away. 

Louis held the railing on his way up the stairs and managed to get inside his flat without incident. Niall was already asleep in their bedroom, probably nude, and it wasn’t really that big of a deal, but Louis wasn’t keen to sleep in own bed anyway. He stretched out on the sofa and, after kicking off his shoes and ensuring his mobile phone’s alarm clock was set, fell asleep, still fully-dressed. 

* 

He overslept and had to go to work the next morning unshowered. His hangover was a welcome distraction from thinking about what an arse he’d made of himself the night before, or wondering how Harry’s night had ended – or with whom. He spent his entire shift trying to eat his way out of his hangover, and after two muffins, a croissant, and countless cups of tea, he felt mostly human again on the bus ride home. Niall was gone by the time he got back, so he threw himself across his bed diagonally and passed out for a solid two hours. When he woke up, he found Zayn on the sofa eating McDonald’s, playing FIFA, and wearing one of Louis’ t-shirts. 

“Nice shirt,” he said, plopping down next to him. 

“Thanks, man,” Zayn said easily. He was such a serial clothing thief that he probably had no idea whose shirt he was wearing. Louis thought about calling him out on it, but he didn’t really even wear it anymore and, more importantly, he had other things on his mind. 

“What are you doing over here?” Louis said, trying to sound casual. 

Zayn gave him a dumb look, one that clearly said, _I’m always here._

“I mean, why aren’t you hanging out with Harry?” Louis said. “Is he not… home yet?” 

Zayn smirked. “Look, bro, if you want to know where Harry is, just ask.” 

“No, I was just—” Louis said, then sighed. “Fine. Is he home?” 

“No, he’s at work. He came by around noon to shower and that. He’s going to some party straight after,” Zayn said. 

“Yeah, with Nick. Do you know how to get there?” Louis said, wracking his brain for the name of the shop where Harry worked. “Uh, Teasdale’s?” 

“Yeah, it’s in Crouch End. You going up there?” Zayn said. 

“I was thinking about it,” Louis said. He needed to talk to Harry, to apologise in person. He didn’t want them to continue taking the easy route of avoiding each other anytime things went awry. The truth of it was that it _wasn’t_ the easy route; there was nothing harder than Harry’s absence. It was well worth swallowing his pride, and he had no doubt that Harry would forgive him. Harry was always willing to forgive and forget, even when Louis didn’t deserve it. 

“You going out with them?” Zayn asked. 

“Uh… yeah,” Louis decided. It would be an act of contrition to play nice with Nick and mingle with Harry’s friends. He wouldn’t drink too much and they could have a fun night out. It would be the perfect way to make up for being a drunken twat. 

“What was Harry wearing when he left?” Louis said, realising he had no idea what to wear to the type of party Nick had described. 

“Scumbag shit, same as always,” Zayn laughed. “One of them, like, ripped up shirts he’s got? It’s like a vest all open down the side, but it’s really a ripped up t-shirt?” 

Louis smiled a bit. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

“Yeah, one of them, I think. And black jeans,” Zayn said. 

“So, I’ll just wear whatever then,” Louis said, hefting himself off the sofa. “Right, I’m gonna hop in the shower.” 

“Right, just throw something on,” Zayn teased. Louis raised his middle finger but didn’t bother pretending he wouldn’t spend an unreasonable amount of time perfecting his hair and outfit. 

“You’re one to talk, Vain Zayn,” he said, because he knew how much Zayn hated that nickname. He yelped when he was pelted with chips. “You better clean those up before your boyfriend gets home!” 

“I’ll tell ‘im you did it!” Zayn said. 

Louis picked a ketchup-covered chip out of hair, looked at it appraisingly, shrugged, and popped it in his mouth. Zayn’s laughter followed him all the way to the bathroom. 

* 

It wasn’t hard to find Teasdale’s. Amid trendy boutiques and overpriced cafes, the shop-front’s large white fascia sign bore tasteful black lettering: _Teasdale’s Flowers_. Louis found himself pulling out his phone and snapping a photograph of it. It was a pretty shop-front, vintage-looking… but it was also a puzzle piece falling into place. The flowers in Harry’s hair, which Louis now realised were only on days he’d worked, his vague allusions to life in retail – complaints or funny stories about customers. So this was where he dealt with the bossy old woman who came in every Thursday. This was where the little child had told him that nonsensical joke about a monkey and a talking banana. 

Louis had thought he enjoyed the small mysteries, had purposely kept from asking questions because he thought it more interesting not to know the mundane details of Harry’s life, and it surprised him how good it made him feel to be there, where Harry spent thirty hours a week. He wanted to go in and see Harry at the till, watch him restock the shelves. All the boring parts he thought he didn’t want of Harry, he suddenly wanted so much his toes curled inside his shoes. 

He hesitated, unsure of the reception he’d get after last night’s antics. He sent a text to test the waters. 

_hey_

In a matter of seconds, he got a reply. 

_hey drunky :P_

Not one for subtlety, he sent: 

_how much do u hate me for being a pissed moron for the 10000000000th time?_

He wrinkled his nose fondly when he read: 

_0%_

Harry was such a nice person, it was almost worrisome. 

_yyyyyyyy do u put up w me? I’m a pain in the arse_

And when he got back, 

_truuuuuuuue but I love u anyway :P_

he shoved his phone in his pocket and went inside. Wind chimes tinkled when he pushed the door open, and he scanned the empty shop. There were flowers everywhere, on shelves and stands and in display coolers lining the walls. 

“Be right with you!” he heard Harry call, and a minute later he emerged from the backroom, a very young blond child in his arms. They made a pretty picture, rosy-cheeked and cheerful, wearing matching wreaths of daisies in their hair. Harry stopped short when he saw him, and Louis tried to quickly memorise the look of happy surprise on his face. 

“Hi,” he said, mirroring Harry’s smile. “Hope it’s okay I’m here.” 

“Of course!” Harry said, stepping up to the front counter so he could set the little girl down on it. “Oh, uh, this is Lux. Lux, say hi to Louis.” 

“Hi!” she waved. 

“Hi, Lux,” Louis said, as he approached the counter and leaned against it. He grabbed her tiny shoe and shook her foot, making her giggle. “I like your wreath,” he told her, then looked up at Harry. “Yours, too.” 

“Oh god,” Harry muttered, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “I only make them if I’ve got her with me. She likes them.” 

“I’m sure it’s all her fault,” Louis said. “Peer pressure and whatnot.” 

Harry stuck out his tongue. “You try thinking of activities to entertain a toddler.” 

“You should be good at that. Can’t be too much different than hanging out with Nick,” Louis snarked. 

Harry went to take off the wreath and Louis grabbed his hand to stop him. “No, leave it. It’s cute.” 

“Great. What man doesn’t dream of being called cute?” Harry said sarcastically, but left it on. 

“I happen to like cute boys with flowers in their hair,” Louis said, and pinched Harry’s cheek when his dimple appeared. Harry scrunched up his face but let him do it. “So whose kid is she? Why are you watching her?” 

“She’s Tom and Lou’s,” Harry said, helping her stand up on the counter. She bent her legs, bouncing in place. “She brings her in a lot; it’s more fun when Lux’s here. But Mama had errands to run, so she left you with me, didn’t she, Lux?” 

“Mama,” she agreed. 

“I didn’t even know Tom and Lou dated. Are they still together?” Louis asked. 

“Dude, they’re engaged,” Harry said. 

“Really? Wow,” Louis said. “So, you met her through work?” 

“Yeah, she’s my boss. Well, one of them. She and Sam run the place, but their parents own it.” Harry pointed to the stack of business cards on the counter with the shop’s name on it. “Sam and Lou Teasdale.” 

“Oh, sick,” Louis said, picking one up to read it. “So how’d you get into the illustrious floral industry?” 

“I met Tom at a punk show when I was sixteen, and then Lou and Sam through him. We clicked right away, and they knew I was keen on moving to London. Holmes Chapel, if you remember, it’s—” 

“Not much to it,” Louis said. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “So when I was seventeen, they invited me to live with them for the summer and work here. It was amazing; I already had friends I'd met through Tom and Lou: Nick, Caroline, Aimee, Ollie, all them, and they kind of took me under their wing. It was just, like, a whole new world. I had to force myself to go back home for my last year of college. As soon as I graduated, I was right back up here. I sofa surfed all summer and then I was sort of debating whether to live in the dorms or get my own flat, and Zayn was sick of the dorms and looking to move out, so… the rest is history.” 

“I skipped the dorms, too,” Louis said. “Cheaper to live on our own, anyway, splitting the rent three ways.” 

“I can’t say Zayn and I split the rent, but…” Harry laughed. “I was willing to let him crash on the sofa, but then he basically moved in with Liam, so it’s whatever.” 

“That’s not fair, though. You pay rent by yourself?” Louis asked. 

“I don’t mind,” Harry said. “He’s never even there; it’s like a storage space for some of his stuff.” 

“People pay for storage space,” Louis said. 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not a problem, honestly.” 

Louis wanted to tell Harry he shouldn’t let people take advantage of him, but as someone who frequently benefited from Harry’s overly gracious nature, he didn’t feel he had the right. He also didn’t think Zayn would screw over a friend, so if he was comfortable not paying rent, it must mean it really wasn’t a strain for Harry to cover it alone. 

Lux made a loud, happy noise and Harry picked her up. “We were about to eat biscuits and milk. Chocolate Hobnobs.” 

“Aw, ged ‘ere!” Louis enthused. “Um… if that was an invitation?” 

Harry nodded, smiling. “There’s a table in the back.” 

“Speaking of invitations,” Louis said, following him into the backroom, “Are we still going to that party with Nick?” 

Harry looked over his shoulder at him. “Really? Yeah, sure. I was planning to leave from here…” 

“I know,” Louis said. “Why, do I need to change?” 

Harry took Louis in from head to foot; his light blue t-shirt, the thin material accentuating the dip of his back and bulge of his biceps, long sleeves pushed up, and the rolled cuffs of his jeans. “No, you look…” Harry trailed off, his eyes meeting Louis’. 

“I’ll do, yeah?” Louis said. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, blinking slowly. 

“Here,” Louis said, maybe too animatedly, reaching for Lux. “Want me to get her?” 

“Thanks,” Harry said. 

Louis took her to the highchair by the long table in the room and got her situated. Times like these were when his skills honed from having four little sisters came in handy. He was chattering to her about the snack she was about to eat, asking if she was hungry, coaxing her into repeating some of his words, when he noticed Harry staring at them with a soft expression. 

“What?” he said self-consciously. 

“You’ll be a good dad someday,” Harry said. 

Louis, embarrassed by how pleased he was by the compliment, turned to Lux so he wouldn’t have to look at Harry. “Me?!” he asked her dramatically. 

She squealed and clapped her hands on his cheeks. He pretended to get knocked over by the force of it, and there was something perfect about the blend of her and Harry’s laughter. 

* 

The party scene was nothing new for Louis. He’d been to countless clubs with countless friends on countless wild nights, and while they tended to follow the drink specials at places that catered to uni students, he’d been to an upscale club before. It was nothing like this, though: driving up to the valet stand in a luxury car packed with Nick and his crew, bypassing the queue and having the doorman usher them into the VIP section, sitting in a private booth with bottle service. Nick was in his element; he seemed to know everyone and they all wanted his attention. It was a lot to take in, and Louis sat between Harry and some girl he suspected was one of the underage models Greg had mentioned, people-watching and nursing his second rum and coke. 

Harry draped an arm over his shoulders and leaned close. “You okay?” 

Louis nodded. “Yeah, I’m great. Love this song.” 

“Wanna dance?” Harry said. 

Louis looked him in the eyes and realised that yes, he would very much like to dance with Harry. “Sure,” he said. “Let me finish my drink.” 

“Bottoms up,” Harry said, clinking their glasses, and they chugged their cocktails. 

As they stood up to head to the dance floor, Nick shouted, “Wait, wait, wait! Here we are!” 

A waitress was tableside holding a tray of shots. “Come on, come on,” Nick demanded, as she handed two shots each to everyone at the table. “Everyone has to drink!” 

“Double fisting it?” the model said, holding up both her shots. 

“This is a celebration!” Nick said. 

“What are we celebrating?” Aimee asked. 

“Harry and Louis!” Nick said, and then rolled his eyes and told Harry, “Oh, shut up!” 

Louis glanced at Harry, wondering what had provoked that, and found him hanging his head in embarrassment. He nudged him with his elbow. Harry looked up, biting his lip, and Louis tucked his own lips to bare his teeth, flared his nostrils, and crossed his eyes. Harry let out an odd squawk and bit his lip again, this time to tame a huge grin, and Louis felt that familiar thrill he got whenever he made Harry laugh. 

“To Louis!” Nick shouted, recapturing his attention. “And not to Harry because he’s a brat. May you live a long and happy life with a lad your own age, someone with a huge knob, who you’ll marry and have one of those obnoxiously long hyphenated surnames, and live on a farm with your ten kids, and send me holiday cards with a family portrait of you all dressed in matching jumpers. _Happy Christmas from The_ — what’s your surname?” 

“Tomlinson,” Louis supplied. 

“ _From The Tomli_ —” Nick tried to continue, but Harry cut him off. 

“Cheers!” he yelled suddenly, throwing back both shots in quick succession. 

“Cheers!” the group echoed, and Louis followed suit. The shots were something harsh and god awful, and he gladly accepted the beer Harry handed him to chase the taste out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure whose it was, but Harry had just been drinking out of it, so he deemed it safe to do the same. 

“Let’s go,” Harry said, taking the beer away and setting it on the table. He took Louis by the hand to lead him to the dance floor. Louis huddled close to Harry’s back, letting him push through the crowd for the both of them. When he’d found a good spot for them, Harry pulled him close and held him by the hips. Louis put his hands on Harry’s waist, bouncing on the balls of his feet to the beat. 

Neither were particularly good dancers, but it wasn’t about that; it was about the heady blend of music and alcohol and body heat, about pressing close and moving to the rhythm as one song bled into another and another. Harry’s hands slid down to cup Louis’ arse and Louis smirked up at him. He slouched down, brushing his lips against Louis’ ears as he said, “Everyone wants you.” 

Louis huffed in amusement and nuzzled Harry’s face. “Everyone, who?” 

“Everyone here,” Harry said, and bit Louis’ neck before elaborating. “They’re all staring at you.” 

Louis looped his arms around Harry’s neck and tugged at his curls. He hadn’t been paying attention to the people around them, but he highly doubted anyone would stare at him when he was next to Harry. “Babe, they’re looking at you.” 

“No,” Harry said stubbornly, wrapping his arms around Louis’ back and squeezing him tight, lifting him off the ground for a moment. When he put him down, Louis stayed up on his tiptoes to kiss him. They snogged in the middle of the dance floor like a couple of randy kids, which is what they were, really, and exactly what Louis wanted to be. 

He was young, he was free; he was twenty years old with a beautiful boy in his arms. Why should he overthink it? Why should he worry about forever, when all that mattered was right now? Right now, he was happy. Right now, his veins were humming the way they always did when he touched Harry. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said unthinkingly, but he didn’t regret it. It was true. 

Harry squeezed him again, picking him up completely and twirling him around. They bumped into the people around them, laughing through insincere apologies and nearly toppling over. Louis clung to Harry and baaed like a sheep as Harry tried to put him down, which only made Harry clumsier, shaking with laughter as he tried to manoeuver them out of the crowd. 

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Harry said, playing grumpy, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around Louis’ shoulders as he steered him back to their booth. 

“There you are!” a man shouted at them as they approached. “We’re leaving!” 

Harry didn’t ask to where or why, simply guided Louis along as the group herded out of the booth and toward the exit. Louis could see Nick leading the pack, and since Harry didn’t seem concerned, he decided to go with the flow. Once they got outside, he watched as Nick and the man loudly discussed where they were headed – the man wanted to go to another club, Nick kept repeating, “Clubs are shit!” 

Aimee’s car pulled up and Nick pointed at several people, including Harry and Louis, and ordered them to get in. Nick and the man hugged briefly, their debate seemingly resolved, to what end Louis wasn’t sure. No one else seemed bothered, so Louis got in the car unquestioningly and let Harry sit on his lap so they could all fit. Aimee was blaring nineties rap music and having an animated discussion with Nick in the front and Louis was pretty sure the three scrawny models sitting next to him – one sprawled across the laps of the other two with her back to Louis – were snorting coke. Louis watched in gross fascination as one model tilted back her head and sniffed hard, a finger pressed against her nostril, and couldn’t reconcile the idea of his Harry befriending people like that. 

His arms were around Harry to keep him in place, but he didn’t realise he was petting Harry’s thigh until he felt a hand cover his. He looked up and saw Harry’s profile, the peaceful little smile on his face as he gazed out the window, and felt dumb for worrying. It wasn’t like Louis didn’t have plenty of mates in university that dabbled in harder stuff on a night out; it didn’t mean they were addicts or that Louis would end up one by proxy. Harry had a good head on his shoulders, and his friends seemed genuinely fond of him. 

A model nudged Louis. “Want some?” 

“No, thanks,” Harry answered for them. 

“Wasn’t asking you,” she teased, in a way that let Louis know Harry never said yes. 

Harry craned his neck to look at Louis. “You don’t, right?” 

“I’m good,” he said, and Harry smiled and looked out the window again, his thumb petting Louis’ hand on his thigh. 

Around ten minutes later, Aimee turned the music off, pulled the car over, and let the models out. Harry slipped off of Louis’ lap and into the abandoned space beside him. “Are they leaving?” Louis asked. 

“Nah, just letting them out so they don’t have to walk,” Harry said. 

“Do you want to get out?” Aimee said. “I’ll have to park up the road.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Louis said. 

“Have you ever done that?” Harry said, and Louis knew what he was asking. 

“I’ve dabbled,” Louis said. “First year of uni. I don’t like it; I can’t get drunk on it.” 

“What’s that?” Nick said. 

“Coke,” Louis said, and asked Harry, “What about you?” 

“Yeah, I dabbled, I guess. Last year,” Harry said. 

“Harry dabbled in a lot of things last year,” Nick said, his voice heavy with insinuation. 

Harry smacked the top of Nick’s quiff. “Fuck off.” 

Nick laughed. “Seventeen was an empirical year for Young Harold. Tried a lot of things you didn’t care for in the end, didn’t you?” 

Harry smacked his quiff again. “And a few things I did.” 

“Oi, watch the hair!” Nick said. “Trial and error is a natural part of the learning experience. Don’t you agree, Louis?” 

Louis shrugged. “Sure, I’ll try anything twice.” 

His words inexplicably set Nick and Aimee off into hysterics, and Harry whined, “Hey!” 

“There, there,” Nick said, reaching an arm back as if to ruffle his hair, and Harry batted it away. Louis reached out to do the same and Harry pressed into his touch, peeking at him through his eyelashes. 

Louis gently scratched Harry’s scalp and moved closer to whisper, “Bet you were hot at seventeen.” 

Harry kissed him, quick and firm, and Louis ignored the amused looks Aimee and Nick exchanged. 

* 

A house party was a house party was a house party. Most of the people were a bit older, certainly more fashionable, and the liquors were more expensive than at the typical uni student affair, but it was still loud, drunken conversations and random couples snogging and joints being passed around. James Brown was playing, and Louis wasn’t sure if it was to be ironic or if it was what actually passed for party music with this crowd. It wasn’t what he would’ve picked, but he found himself grooving to it, sipping his cocktail and resting his head against Harry’s shoulder as they listened to a tattoo artist talk about a large back piece she’d inked that day. 

Harry checked a text message on his phone and asked Louis, “Are you tired?” 

“Not at all,” Louis said. “Why, are you?” 

“No, but Nick has work in a few hours. Aimee’s taking him home, so…” he said. 

“Oh, do we need to go? I don’t mind,” Louis said. They’d only been at the party for about an hour, but they had uni in the morning anyway. “What time is it?” 

“Almost two,” Harry said. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Louis said. 

He was a little surprised when Harry didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone, simply took him by the hand and led him outside. Harry sent off a text message before putting his phone away and looking at Louis askance. “What?” 

Harry shook his head. “Sorry if you didn’t have fun.” 

“What are you talking about? I had a great time,” Louis assured him, hooking his arms around Harry’s neck. “Why would you say that?” 

“I dunno,” Harry said. “’Cause my friends are… old, or whatever.” 

“Oh God, don’t ever listen to anything I say when I’m drunk! Your friends are really nice. I like them, okay? I had a lot of fun, especially dancing,” he said, with a silly wag of his hips. 

“Me too,” Harry said, sounding pleased. 

“I’ll take you out with my friends sometime; it’s really not much different. Less models and champagne, more cheap beer and kebabs,” he said. 

“Who doesn’t like a kebab?” Harry said, as Aimee’s car pulled up. Louis smirked as Harry opened the car door for him, imagining his friends’ faces when he showed up with a punk rocker by his side. They would all love him, of course, because Harry was inherently lovable. He smoothed a hand over Harry’s tattooed forearm as he got into the car, and was rewarded with a dimpled grin. It wasn’t just hard not to fall for Harry’s charms; it was impossible. 

* 

He’d taken care not to drink too much, but his head was spinning with another type of intoxication. He was drunk on the feel of Harry’s hands on his bare skin, and the wet heat of his mouth. The moment they were safely locked inside Harry’s flat, Louis had been unceremoniously shoved against the door, his jeans and pants yanked down a second later, and Harry’s lips – his fucking gorgeous, plush lips and velvet tongue and hot breath were all over Louis’ cock. 

“Shit,” he hissed, willing his knees not to buckle when Harry deep-throated him. “ _Jesus_ , fuck!” 

There was nothing more alluring than Harry’s eyes when he was choking on Louis’ cock, except maybe the pink of his cheeks or the needy little sounds he made. Louis pressed himself against the door, his arse clenching at the sight of Harry’s slender fingers fanned across Louis’ torso. “Fuck, can we? Bed?” he asked desperately, and cursed again when Harry pulled away. 

Suddenly he was upside down, flung over Harry’s shoulder and being carried to the bedroom, his shoes, socks, jeans, and pants tugged off and discarded carelessly along the way. He half-protested, half-laughed as he watched his shoes fly across the living room. Harry flicked on the lights and yanked the blankets down to the foot of the bed before dumping Louis on it, and Louis lifted his arms helpfully so he could he divested of his shirt. He leaned back on his elbows to watch Harry strip himself, scooting into the middle of the bed and putting out his arms to welcome Harry as he crawled atop him. He moaned into their kiss as their hips ground together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry rasped, and Louis knew exactly what he meant. Just them, just the press of their skin, the way their bodies fit together, it felt better than he’d ever known it could feel to lay down with someone. As if they were touching all the way through, every piece of him and every piece of Harry, and at the same time, as if they could never touch enough. 

He took Harry’s hand and squeezed three of his fingers. “I want these.” 

Harry bit his lip, searing him with a heavy-lidded, predatory gaze as he reached for the bottle of lube they kept on the bedside table. “Don’t look me like that,” Louis said quietly. 

Harry smirked and popped the bottle open, wetting his fingers. “Like what?” 

“Like you’re about to… wreck me,” Louis said, spreading his thighs as Harry lay beside him. He gasped when Harry grabbed Louis’ dick, giving him a few quick tugs and briefly fondling his balls before abruptly sliding a finger into him. 

Harry loomed over Louis, bracing himself on one forearm and gripping Louis' hair, pulling his head back to bare his throat. He licked his way from Louis’ collarbone to the rim of his ear, and said, “I am.” 

Seemingly in spite of this, he only gave Louis one finger, a maddening tease, while kissing and biting at his lips hungrily. Within minutes, Louis was squirming, wanting to roll over and get fingerfucked from behind the way Harry often did it, just the right side of rough. He whimpered with relief when Harry took his finger out and slapped Louis’ hip, immediately repositioning himself on his hands and knees. 

Harry moved down the bed to sit behind him, running his hands over the soles of Louis’ feet and up the back of his calves and thighs, palming Louis’ arse and spreading it, rubbing his thumbs against the rim of his entrance. “Pretty little hole,” Harry murmured, and Louis shut his eyes tightly and tried not to whimper. 

“Pretty, pink little hole,” he continued. Louis heard the snick of a bottle cap being lifted and he jerked forward when lube drizzled down the crease of his arse. Harry chuckled lowly and took him by the hips, positioning him the way he wanted him, Louis widening his stance and arching his back obligingly as Harry directed him with gentle hands. 

Harry rubbed his fingers up and down Louis’ crease a few times, enough to make Louis look back at him impatiently. Harry grinned wickedly and Louis huffed and faced forward, holding back a smile. “I know what you want,” Harry drawled tauntingly, and before Louis could retort, he said, “You want me to fuck your tight arse,” and sunk two fingers in deep. 

Louis rocked back into every thrust, riding Harry’s fingers shamelessly, groaning encouragement when Harry eventually added a third finger. Harry was ravaging Louis’ neck and back, biting and sucking marks into his skin, spurring him on with filthy whispered words, telling Louis how every inch of him was more beautiful than the last and how badly it made Harry want to fuck him. 

It was nothing Harry hadn’t said before during sex, but somehow it cut Louis to the core. He wanted more of Harry in him; he wanted to be as close as they could. He groped blindly for Harry’s cock, finding it rock hard and leaking and intimidatingly huge. But he wanted it. 

“Harry,” he tried, and then cleared his throat and said it louder. “Harry.” 

Harry hummed enquiringly and pushed into Louis’ grip. Louis let go of him and said, “Can you…?” 

Harry froze, and Louis whined softly at the loss of Harry’s fingers. “You okay? Was I—” 

“No, it’s not—” Louis turned over, sitting up to face Harry but unable to meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” Harry coaxed, nudging Louis’ chin up with his finger. “What’s wrong?” 

Louis shrugged. He wasn’t one to be shy in bed, but he hadn’t had someone inside of him since his college boyfriend, when he’d wanted the new experience more than anything else. This was different; Louis didn’t want to get fucked, he wanted to get fucked _by Harry_. He wanted Harry’s cock and his curls and his lips and his voice. He wanted the taste of Harry’s sweat and the green of his eyes. 

“Tell me,” Harry said quietly, smoothing his hands over Louis’ shoulders. 

Louis scoffed at himself, shaking his head. “I’m stupid.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re perfect,” Harry said, so sincerely that Louis shook his head again. “You are, Louis. And you’re gorgeous. Your face and your body… you don’t know, I think about you all the time.” 

Louis ducked his head and admitted, “Me too.” 

Harry took Louis’ face in his hands and kissed him lightly, then hugged him and whispered in his ear, “I want to touch you all the time.” 

Louis slumped against him and smiled wryly. “You practically do.” 

Harry rubbed Louis’ back and said, “But I _want_ to. I spend all day wanting you. Wanting to be near you. Hear your voice. Smell you.” 

There were a thousand words on Louis’ lips, but all that came out was, “Stinky.” 

“You don’t understand how it feels,” Harry said. 

Louis let too many silent seconds pass, and he knew he sounded too tentative when he finally said, “Yeah, I do. Harry.” 

He lifted his head and Harry kissed him. “Do you want to…?” Louis said. 

Harry’s eyebrows rose questioningly. 

“Do you have condoms?” Louis said. 

Harry stared at him blankly. 

“Um…” Louis could feel himself blushing. “I mean, if you want…” 

“Yeah, yes, I do,” Harry said quickly. “Yeah, of course. You want to?” 

“If you do,” Louis said. 

“Fuck yeah,” Harry said fervently, and kissed him hard. Louis melted into it, let Harry ply him with kisses and lay him down, carding his fingers through Louis’ hair soothingly. By the time Harry moved away to get a condom from the bedside table drawer, Louis was in that paradoxical headspace only Harry could put him in, a place of calm arousal, his belly warm with sweetness and burning with desire. 

“How do you want to…?” Harry asked, and Louis almost laughed at how attentive he looked. He could practically see the antennae sprouting from Harry’s curls, tuned to catch every tiny wave of Louis’ frequency. That’s why it was so easy to trust Harry completely, because he so obviously cared, gave Louis every last bit of his attention. 

“I don’t know,” Louis said. “I usually top.” 

Harry hesitated, and Louis said, “No, I’m— I want to. I mean, I want you to. I’m just saying… it’s been a while.” 

Harry kissed Louis’ cheek and said, “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you.” 

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you will.” 

Harry grinned and Louis poked his dimple. “Here,” Harry said, hand on Louis’ shoulder, and Louis rolled onto his side. Harry placed the lube and condom beside Louis and Louis rested his hand atop them as Harry spooned him, pressing his hips against Louis’ arse, demonstrating the position. Louis licked his lips in anticipation as Harry took the lube from him, but then his slick hand was on Louis’ dick, stroking from root to tip. He moaned appreciatively as Harry took his time working Louis to full hardness, and he was so lost to his pleasure that it took him a moment to register when Harry let go and used his leg to push Louis’ forward. 

Three fingers flirted with Louis’ hole, pushing in briefly, and Louis couldn’t stop the hungry noise he made. “You ready?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded eagerly. 

He didn’t even think to assist Harry with the condom and lube, but Harry was fine on his own, his movements quick and precise, and then the blunt head of his cock was nudging against Louis’ hole and Louis was breathing deep and trying to remember how this had felt last time. Last time, a million years ago, with a fumbling boy on a twin-sized dorm bed, and it was _nothing_ like this. 

It wasn’t all the way in yet, not even close, he didn’t think, but the thick girth was stretching him deliciously. He felt instantly addicted to the way it set him on edge, sent something primal sizzling through every nerve ending. Right now, like this, they were connected, and Harry was taking him and he was taking Harry. And if Harry wanted to, he could pin Louis down and make him take his huge cock hard and fast, and Louis would have no choice, and Louis wouldn’t _want_ a choice. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he choked, when Harry gave him a couple more inches. 

“Y’alright?” Harry slurred, his voice thick and dazed. 

Louis shook his head, pushed back as Harry eased in, until his arse was pressed against Harry’s hips, and he had that whole fat cock inside of him, all of it. He had all of Harry and he couldn’t think straight. “It doesn’t hurt. Maybe it should.” 

“Why should it hurt?” Harry said, but Louis shook his head again. It just should, maybe. It shouldn’t be so easy. It shouldn’t be so good. 

Harry was being too careful, giving Louis too much time to adjust to his size, and once he began to move, pumping too slowly. Louis pressed his face into the sheets and mumbled, “Please, harder.” 

Harry made an inquisitive noise and Louis repeated it louder. Harry laughed breathily and said, “I can’t, Louis, I’ll fucking come. You feel amazing.” 

“Amazing,” Louis returned. “Fucking— _please_ , Harry. I don’t care; you can come. Just fuck me first.” 

“Fuck, Louis, don’t—” Harry pleaded, and then he was pulling out and Louis was reaching back, trying to stop him. Harry grabbed him, manhandling him onto his back and hiking him up by the thighs, and Louis held them in place. It was reminiscent of the first time Harry had fingered him, and just like then, he was captivated by the sight of Harry pushing into him. They both watched Harry feeding his dick to Louis’ hole, the way he stuttered his hips forward and loomed over Louis, and only when he was in as deep as possible did he turn a satisfied smirk on Louis and lean down to kiss him. 

“So, you want me to fuck you?” Harry teased, tweaking Louis’ nipple. Louis wrinkled his nose at him and Harry laughed and pushed himself up, bracing his weight on his arms, and a devastatingly effective roll of his hips had Louis’ toes curling and his eyes fluttering shut. 

“I don’t think my dick’s ever been this hard,” Harry mused, beginning to move in earnest. Louis really wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t form words. 

He’d asked for a proper fucking and he got it; not the fast and rough one he’d thought he wanted, but a thorough undoing, Harry taking him apart skillfully. Long, steady thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then plunging in deep, over and over, and all Louis could do was dig his fingernails into Harry’s back and try not to moan too loud. Harry was grunting, cursing, eyes on Louis’ hard dick. “You like this.” 

It wasn’t a question, so Louis didn’t answer. 

“Think you can come on my dick?” Harry said, and Louis’ cock twitched and he nearly came on the spot. Harry bore his weight on one hand so he could wrap the other around Louis and jack him in time with his thrusts. Louis clutched the sheets and rolled his hips helplessly, torn between pushing back onto Harry’s cock or up into his hand. It didn’t take long to send Louis shuddering through his orgasm, shooting so hard he felt some hit his chin. When his vision finally refocused, Harry was gaping down at him. 

“How the fuck are you real?” Harry said, almost accusingly, and buried himself in Louis, snapping his hips relentlessly until his entire body tensed and he came. Louis drank in the sight of it, rapt in awe; the curls stuck to Harry’s forehead, damp with sweat, the flushed cheeks and lips swollen from kissing, his neck and arm muscles straining with exertion. Harry was always the most beautiful like this, blissed out and spent. 

Harry collapsed atop him and Louis held him tight, not quite ready for it to end. Harry seemed to share the impulse, burying his face in Louis’ hair and breathing in deeply. Louis made an unhappy noise when Harry reached down to disengage them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, still holding the condom in place as he climbed off the bed, turning off the light on his way out. 

The light shining in from the living room was enough for Louis to spot the bottle of lube on the bed and kick it to the floor. He scooted up so his head was on a pillow, stretching his legs experimentally. There was definitely some discomfort, but not much, and it was far overridden by a full-body thrum of gratification. Harry soon returned with a wet flannel and wiped Louis’ torso clean, dotting kisses on his stomach along the way. Louis plucked the flannel out of Harry’s hand and threw it across the room. Harry looked at him curiously and Louis put out an arm, a silent request. Harry smiled and pulled the blankets up from the foot of the bed to cover them as he cuddled up to Louis, kissing his cheek. “You okay?” 

“I’m bloody brilliant,” Louis said, closing his eyes. 

“It was good?” Harry said, and the uncertainty was faint but it was enough to make Louis look at him disbelievingly. 

“Mate, you were there. What do you think?” he said, and Harry cracked a smile. Louis leaned up a little and Harry met his lips readily. “It was… fireworks and supernovas, yeah? And little cartoon birds circling my head.” 

“I think that only happens when you have a head injury,” Harry said, but sounded a bit smug, which Louis thought was well-earned. 

“What time is it?” he said. 

“Who cares?” said Harry. 

“We have uni,” Louis reminded him. 

“Fuck uni,” Harry said plainly, and Louis laughed, surprised. “Actually, no, the only thing I’m fucking today is you. Or tomorrow. Whatever. We’re not leaving this bed for at least twenty-four hours.” 

“Have I got a say in this?” Louis asked, amused. 

“Not really,” Harry said, matter-of-factly. “Well, unless… is your…?” 

“Is my arse sore?” Louis said. “I think I’m okay. I’ll let you know when I wake up.” 

“I mean, we don’t have to do that. There’s other stuff,” Harry said. “Even, like, I just… I don’t want to let you out of my sight.” 

“I’m just glad you’re not one of them blokes who gets all clingy after a shag,” Louis joked. 

Harry tightened his hold on him, nuzzling into his hair. “I’m exactly one of them blokes, but it’s too late now!” 

“Oh god!” Louis pretended to struggle, and Harry snickered and didn’t let go. “Guess I’ve no choice, then.” 

“Guess not,” Harry agreed. 

Louis craned his neck, offering his lips again, and Harry helped himself to a lingering kiss. “Mmm,” Louis said, “I suppose there are worse fates. Can’t think of any at the moment, but…” 

“Hey!” Harry said, in that whiny tone that Louis secretly found adorable. 

“I’m right where I want to be,” Louis confessed, and was rewarded with Harry’s beatific grin. “So, is the hostage allowed sleep or not?” 

Harry pretended to think about it before nodding. 

“Okay, great. Then shut up,” Louis said, closing his eyes and snuggling back into Harry’s embrace. Harry bit at Louis’ ear lightly, but settled down. As Harry’s steady breathing grew into faint snoring, Louis smiled fondly, drifting off into an exhausted sleep.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huuuge thank you to those that leave comments; I love hearing your thoughts and I appreciate your support so much<33 Thanks for the kudos as well, and to everyone who recs this fic to their friends. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you take the time to share your thoughts with me, thank you xxx  
>    
> and congrats (?? lol) to Anyi for "winning" the tumblr "contest" hahaha, ykwim! I hope you enjoyed your little cameo .x There will be another "winner" later on :)  
>  


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn’t a surprise when Harry showed up at the tail end of Louis’ work shift on Wednesday, because he’d shown up on Tuesday, too. It was ridiculous for him to make Sam drive him all the way from Teasdale’s to Cuppa just so they could ride the bus home together. It would make much more sense to meet at Harry’s flat, but Harry seemed to have lost all interest in making sense since Sunday night. 

The new level of intimacy born in Harry’s bedroom had bled out into the rest of their little shared world. If they’d had trouble keeping their hands to themselves before, it was now torturous to not touch. They snogged shamelessly anywhere they happened to be – on the bus, in the crisps aisle at Tesco, in Cuppa last night, up against the front counter. The last of which was inadvisable, as it was now all Louis could think about when he looked at it. 

He’d spent the last ten minutes wiping down the exact spot that he’d pressed Harry down onto before rucking up his shirt and sucking bruises along the jut of his hipbones. It had taken an inordinate amount of restraint to stop himself from blowing him right there, right between the pastry case and the napkin dispenser. Louis groaned at the memory, and the memory of finally getting his mouth on Harry once they’d gotten back to his flat, so impatient that they didn’t even make it to the bedroom, tumbling to the living room floor in a pile of overheated limbs. 

He was distracted enough already, just trying to finish his end-of-day duties so he could go home, and Harry wouldn’t quit sending him dumb text messages. Stuff like: 

_I want to lick every inch of u .x_

and 

_send me dick pix haha just kidding (unless u’ll do it???) .x_

He let his phone buzz three times in a row before checking it. 

_ur like mad hot dude .x_

_mad hotttttttttttttttttttttttt_

_I want 2 write poems 2 ur bum .x_

Louis sighed in frustration and sent back, 

_BUGGER OFF U LITTLE HO I’M TRYING TO WORK_

and then, despite himself, added: 

_wot kind of dick pix do u want, just a general willy shot or do I have to be wanking? x_

He snorted when he read the reply. 

_DON’T TOY WITH MY EMOTIONS, TOMLINSON._

He didn’t bother responding, because it was funnier to leave Harry hanging. He wielded his dishcloth with renewed gusto, and was polishing one final tabletop when the bell above the door jingled. Within seconds, he was tackled and pulled backwards into a bear hug. 

“Hey,” he wheezed, patting the arms snaked around his waist, and when they loosened obligingly, he turned around for his hello kisses; forehead, nose, and mouth. His eyes slipped closed as their lips met, intending to greet him properly, but snapped open again when he realised they weren’t alone. 

There stood Sam, with raised eyebrows and a smirk. 

“Hey!” he said, and tried to push away Harry, who made a small, displeased noise and squeezed Louis closer mulishly. He thwacked Harry’s shoulder until he released him. 

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said. 

Louis smoothed his fringe to the side, feeling all-around ruffled. “No, you’re not. How are you, babe?” 

“I’m good. I was just hoping I could get some of them lemon poppyseed muffins Harry’s been bringing in to the shop,” she said. “If you haven’t closed the till yet?” 

“Yeah, no worries. We’ve only got a few left, though,” he said, hurrying to serve her. There was clear amusement in her eyes, and he wondered what she saw when she looked at him; when she looked at him with Harry. 

“Have you got plans tomorrow night?” she said. 

Louis glanced at Harry instinctively to check, then quickly back to the pastry case. “Uh, no, don’t think so.” 

“If you fancy a drink, some of us are going out. Harry said he couldn’t make it, but I have a hunch that if you’re coming, his very important plans might suddenly fall through,” she said teasingly. 

Harry didn’t seem to be sharing any of Louis’ unease. He shrugged off Sam’s insinuation, unashamed, and grinned at Louis. Adorable bastard. 

“Sure,” Louis said, carefully bagging her order. As he punched some buttons on the till, he told her, “I put in a parsnip-apple-raisin muffin for you. It sounds grotesque but it’s actually quite good. On the house.” 

“Thanks, dear,” she said, trading the bag for money. “Shall we pick you up here or your flat tomorrow?” 

“I can come to the shop,” he said. “I’ll be off by six.” 

“Perfect,” she said. They said goodnight and she left. 

“Well?” Harry said, once they were alone. 

“Well what?” Louis said, going about his end-of-day process with the till. 

“Am I allowed to violate you yet?” Harry said. 

Louis shook his head. “Let me finish here first.” 

Harry came around the counter and Louis primly informed him, “This is an Employees Only area, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to— Oi!” 

Harry draped himself over Louis’ back, hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch him work. “Thought you said you’d be wanking? It’s not nice to tease. Do you know how awkward it is to sit in a car trying to hide a semi?” 

Louis tsked. “Only a semi? I’m insulted.” 

“I can tell you think you’re hilarious, but you’re not,” Harry said. 

“Resorted to lying, have we?” Louis said serenely. 

“You should use your powers for good instead of evil,” Harry murmured, pressing his mouth to the nape of Louis’ neck. 

Louis shivered and tilted his head forward. “Mmm, I’ll consider it.” 

Harry bit him lightly and let him go with a pat on his bum. “Are the bins emptied?” 

“Yeah, it’s by the backdoor,” Louis said. If Harry was around, he always took the rubbish to the skip for Louis. 

When Harry returned and was washing his hands at the sink, Louis said, “Um, just out of curiosity, does Sam know? About… that you and I…” 

Harry didn’t answer straightaway, taking his time rinsing and drying his hands before saying, “Is it a secret?” 

“Of course it is! I’m well embarrassed of you,” Louis kidded, but noticing the little frown on Harry’s face, said, “No, it’s just I’ve taken out an advert on the front page of The Sun. I was wondering if I’d wasted my money.” 

Harry bit his bottom lip, staring intently. “Okay.” 

Louis wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he pressed on. “Since we’re seeing them tomorrow, I was just checking who knew… Or if you’d rather keep it quiet, or… I mean, it’s up to you; they’re your friends. I’m not bothered either way.” 

There was a part of him that honestly was embarrassed. Not of Harry, obviously, but of the fact that he was his latest conquest. That Caroline and who knows how many else had come before him; that others would come after. 

Harry retrieved the hoodie that Louis had stashed under the front counter and brought it to him. Louis reached out for it, but Harry grabbed his hand and helped him put it on. He zipped it all the way up, pulled the hood over Louis’ head, and tugged its laces tight, leaving just an oval of his face showing, his nose and mouth. 

“Oi!” Louis said, wrinkling his nose when Harry kissed the tip of it. “Am I riding the bus home like this?” 

“You can start a new trend,” Harry said. 

“Should I?” he asked. “I can’t see a thing, but I’ll assume I look brilliant.” 

He made a show of his blindness, patting at Harry’s chest and face clumsily, mussing his curls and shoving a finger up his nose. Harry reared back, laughing, and grabbed Louis’ hands before capturing his lips in a scorching kiss. 

It was bizarre to be dressed so silly and kissed so passionately at the same time. Bizarre and wonderful, and Louis ruined it by laughing, but then Harry joined in, and like every kiss they shared, it only got better. 

* 

The next day, Louis rushed home from uni to change clothes before heading to Teasdale’s. He arrived to find Lou at the front counter working on a laptop. “Hi, babes!” she greeted him. 

“Hey, love, how you been?” he said. 

“Just balancing the budget,” she said. “Go on in the back. He’s ready for you.” 

“I thought he doesn’t get off till eight?” he said. 

“He doesn’t,” she said. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Louis smiled confusedly and went into the backroom. Harry was at the long table, stripping the thorns off of a heap of roses one by one. When he saw Louis, he held out an arm and beckoned him in with wiggling fingers, silently requesting a hug. 

“Hey,” Louis said, tucking himself under Harry’s arm and holding still for his three kisses, returning three of his own to line of Harry’s jaw. “Wow, I’ve never seen so many roses in my life.” 

“Have you had tea?” Harry said. 

“Not yet,” he said, and poked Harry’s stomach suspiciously. “Why? Did you eat without me?” 

“Of course not,” Harry said. “Go sit.” 

Louis took a seat at the far end of the table while Harry fetched mugs of hot tea. “Very nice,” Louis said approvingly after his first sip. His title of Master Tea Brewer was still safe, but Harry’s skills were coming along nicely. 

Harry smiled, looking pleased by the compliment, as he next brought to the table two plates and a bag of Chinese takeaway. 

“Oh, hell yeah!” Louis cheered. “You brilliant bastard!” 

He reached for one of the little while boxes as Harry unpacked them, only to have his hand blocked. “Not yet,” Harry scolded him, and he waited impatiently as Harry served the meal. 

“Aren’t we posh?” he teased, as Harry set a loaded plate in front of him. 

Harry shook his head, but sat a bit straighter. “Just thought you might like it.” 

Louis put a hand on Harry’s forearm, and when Harry looked at him, he leaned in for a kiss. “I do,” he said truthfully. “You take proper good care of me.” 

He expected Harry to laugh, but he simply handed Louis a pair of chopsticks and said, “I like taking care of you.” 

Louis pulled a face, but Harry was too busy emptying a packet of duck sauce onto the side of Louis’ plate to notice. He almost protested, just to be obnoxious, but they both knew he liked duck sauce, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment. Harry deserved better than that… and maybe, so did Louis. 

* 

They’d long since finished eating, Louis insisting on cleaning up afterward so Harry could finish stripping the roses and storing them in the coolers, when Lou came in. 

“Sam’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. What’s left to do?” she said. 

“I just need to wipe down the tables and take out the rubbish,” Harry said. “Do you need any help up front?” 

“No, I’m done. I’m going to go on home,” she said. 

“Are you not coming out with us?” Louis said. 

“Nah, me and my old man are having us a night in. We haven’t had much quality time lately,” she said. “All right, I’m off then. Harry, make sure Sam sets the alarm and—” 

“I know, I know,” he said. “Don’t worry.” 

She nodded. “G’night, boys.” 

They bid her goodnight, and Louis volunteered to clean the tables while Harry emptied the bins. 

“So, where are we going tonight, anyway?” he asked. 

“Not sure,” Harry said. “Makes no difference to me. As long as you’re there.” 

“You lay it on thick,” Louis demurred, but turned away to hide his smile. 

* 

It was inevitable that they ended up in a nightclub he’d only previously seen in grainy tabloid photographs of drunken celebrities. He’d been worried about what a drink might cost in a place like this, but luckily their booth was stocked with bottles of alcohol and mixers. 

It was also stocked with people, who’d shuffled around until he and Harry and Sam could squeeze in. He couldn’t keep their names straight, although they all seemed well-aware of whom he was already, and highly accepting of his presence. He’d lost count of how many approving glances were bent his way, where he sat tucked into the curve of Harry’s arm. 

Although he’d probably always prefer a few pints and a football game to the high-end party scene, there was a certain appeal to it all. The flashy clothes, the big personalities, the overindulgence; it was a designer version of the wild nights Louis used to have clubbing with his university mates. When an inebriated woman in a mini-dress stumbled up to their table, slurring something about her boyfriend leaving town, it reminded him of a melodramatic first-year student whose boyfriend chose to go on holiday with his mates instead of her. 

“He’ll be home before you know it,” Harry consoled her as, what a surprise, Caroline came up behind her and steered the woman away. She waved, promising to come join them later. Fantastic. 

“Can you scoot over a bit?” Harry said, and Louis obliged, slinging his legs across Harry’s lap to help make more room. They were pressed closely together, and when their eyes met, Louis laughed at how their noses nearly touched. 

“Am I squishing you?” Harry asked, tightening his arm around Louis’ shoulders. 

Louis shook his head. “I don’t mind.” 

“Imagine how awful this would be if I were smelly,” Harry said. 

“Who says you aren’t?” Louis teased. 

“Heyyyy,” he whined, but laughed when Louis angled his nose toward Harry’s underarm, inhaled exaggeratedly, and pretended to faint. Louis pinched Harry’s nipple, and Harry grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers together. “Play nice.” 

“Or else what?” Louis challenged. 

Harry licked his lips, considering, and his voice was low and promising when he said, “Or else I’ll give you a proper spanking when I get you home.” 

Louis’ eyebrows flew up, and he knew he should make a joke, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of one. His mind went blank but for an image of himself, bare-arsed and bent over Harry’s knees. Harry’s eyes were darkening; it was obvious he was picturing a similar scene. And there was nothing funny about it, really. 

“Them tight jeans you’re wearing won’t survive if you pop a boner,” Louis warned him. 

“Christ,” Harry choked, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, snickering quietly. 

“Rein yourself in, Styles,” Louis continued mischievously. “These decent people didn’t come here to see your knob swinging about like a rusty gate. It’s a safety hazard. You could put someone’s eye out.” 

Harry bit his lip, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering; an expression he aimed at Louis all too often, and one that made Louis never want to look away. 

“—off in their own little world all night. Oi, Harry, Louis!” Someone jostled them, and Louis could feel himself blushing as he looked over his shoulder to see the guy he was sitting next to (Jon? Josh?), and a few others staring at them. Sam flapped her hand at them. “Louis, you know Laura, don’t you?” 

Laura, one of the producers of Greg’s radio show, was standing by their table. “Hi.” 

He let go of Harry’s hand and angled his legs off of Harry’s lap. “Uh, hi.” 

“Bit surprised to see you out!” she said to Harry. “To what do we owe this honour?” 

“The only way he’ll go out anymore is if Louis comes,” Sam said. 

“I was at your birthday party last weekend,” Harry pointed out. 

“And so was Louis!” Sam cried. 

“We didn’t go together. That was a coincidence,” Harry said. 

“I remember,” Laura said, and Louis looked down, embarrassed. “You both came separately with friends, right?” 

Louis looked up at her, and she was smiling. “Well, you’re cuter as a pair, if you ask me.” 

Harry hid his face against the side of Louis’ neck, playing shy, and Louis smacked him for it. 

“Aww, aren’t they sweet?” Sam taunted. 

“We were all hoping you’d drop by the show this week,” Laura said. 

“Uh, yeah, I was planning to, but…” Louis said. 

“Have you got time tomorrow?” she said. 

“Um, actually, yeah, I do.” He had the afternoon off and Harry had to work, so his only plans had been to sit around in his pants playing FIFA. 

“Okay, cool,” she said. “And Harry, if you want to tag along—” 

“He has work,” Louis cut in. 

“Oh, that’s a shame. You could’ve kept me company in the production booth. You never come by the station anymore!” she said. 

“He’s too busy stalking Louis,” Sam said. 

Harry didn’t deny it. 

“I don’t blame you,” Laura said with a wink. 

“Can I make you a drink?” he said. 

“I’d love a screwdriver, please,” she said. 

Harry stood to mix her cocktail, only to discover there weren’t any clean glasses left at the table. “You can have mine,” he offered. 

“No worries,” she said. “I’ve a table of my own to get back to.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Sam said, scooting out of the booth. 

“What about you?” Harry asked Louis, already reaching for his glass. “Another?” 

Louis nodded. He watched Harry refresh both of their drinks. “You know, I’d not take it personally if you defended yourself.” 

“Defended myself against what?” Harry said, sitting down and handing Louis a vodka cranberry. 

“They act like you’re obsessed with me,” Louis said. 

Harry grinned. “I am.” 

Louis rolled his eyes and punched Harry’s arm. 

“Ow,” he said, his dimples flashing devilishly. “Kinky.” Which earned him another punch. 

The guy, Jon or Josh, was telling a story involving the girls sitting next to him, and Louis turned towards them, wanting not to seem antisocial. The wit of this crowd was just as sharp as their fashion, and it was no hardship to tune into the conversation. That is, until Harry plastered himself to Louis’ back and snuck a hand under the hem of Louis’ shirt to softly stroke his stomach. Louis pushed his hand away, but it returned immediately, this time attempting to slip down the front of his jeans. 

He reeled around, forcing Harry to move back, but his fingers stayed hooked into the top of Louis’ jeans, and he looked blatantly smug at recapturing his attention. 

“Cheeky,” Louis scolded. “Do you mind? I’m trying to be sociable.” 

“But we’re the only ones here,” Harry said. It was sickening, really, the way he could say such trite things and sound so sincere. 

Louis arched his eyebrows. “So you want to just sit and stare at each other? For the whole night?” 

Harry moved close enough to whisper in his ear. “Forever.” 

Lines like that, moments like this, were ones that the deeply romantic part of Louis yearned to indulge, yet his kneejerk reaction was to reject it as cliché. How could Harry possibly feel that way? How could Louis possibly feel the same? It was foolish to let Harry sweet talk him, but the sweetness was precisely what made it so hard to resist. In good conscience, could Louis deny that he wouldn’t mind staring at Harry forever? 

Harry’s eyes dropped to Louis’ mouth, and Louis warned him, “Don’t even think about it.” 

Harry smirked, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I’m always thinking about it.” 

“Surely you wouldn’t sully my virtue by snogging me in a booth full of people?” Louis said. 

“I’d do it in half a second, if I thought you’d let me,” Harry said. 

“Sorry,” Louis said. “If they want a show, they’ll have to go to the West End.” 

“Then let’s go,” Harry said. 

“To the West End?” he asked, confused. 

Harry laughed. “Home.” 

“What time is it?” Louis said, taking out his phone to check, but Harry put his hand over the screen. “I just want to see how long we’ve been here.” 

“Does it matter?” Harry said. “I really don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.” 

“Such naughty language!” Louis gasped. “Really, Styles. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

Harry tugged lightly on the waist of Louis’ jeans. “Come home with me and I’ll show you exactly what I do with this mouth.” 

Louis shoved his hand away roughly. “Unhand me, you pervert.” 

Harry made puppy eyes, but quickly perked up when he realised Louis was pushing him out of the booth. “I’ll text Sam to let her know.” 

“We have to at least say bye,” Louis said. 

“She wouldn’t mind,” Harry insisted, but took Louis’ hand and led him to another crowded booth. Louis very deliberately restrained his expression when he saw Caroline sitting with Sam. 

Harry wasted no time telling them, “Good night! We’re leaving.” 

“Wait another hour and I’ll drop you off,” Sam said. 

“We have an early morning,” Harry said. 

“We all do!” she said. 

“I’m hungry,” he claimed. 

“I’ll take you,” Caroline piped up. 

“You sure?” he said. 

She nodded, and Sam frowned at her. “You’re leaving, too?” 

“I was planning to stay at Harry’s,” she said. 

Louis flinched in shock, and nearly gave himself whiplash looking to Harry for his reaction. 

“My sofa is always open to you,” Harry said graciously. 

“What’s wrong with your bed?” she said. 

“Sorry, that position’s been filled,” Harry said, draping an arm over Louis’ shoulders. Louis was cringing inside and trying not to blush, feeling extremely awkward. 

Oddly, nobody else seemed fazed, as if it were totally okay for Harry to so bluntly reject Caroline’s proposition. Louis recalled what Greg had said that night at Caroline’s party, about the rampant in-dating of this ultra-hip group. Maybe this was a standard situation for them, then. Louis couldn’t imagine Harry treating anyone so insensitively otherwise and Caroline didn’t look at all upset. 

She was mock-glaring at Harry. “You could’ve warned me earlier, you muppet!” 

“Thought Sam would’ve told you. Everyone knows what a bigmouth she is,” he said, squawking when Sam swatted at him. “You can still drop us off if you want?” 

“Fuck off!” Caroline laughed. “Good seeing you, Louis. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat.” 

He had to clear his throat before he could find his voice. “Uh, yeah, no worries. Good seeing you.” 

They bid goodnight to the group, Harry dropping kisses on several women’s cheeks before grabbing Louis’ hand and hurrying him out of the club. It was no trouble to hail a cab, and they were soon on the way home. As they passed the Tesco near their flats, Louis said, “Wait, pull over! Let us out here.” 

Harry paid the fare before Louis could even reach for his wallet, so Louis stopped him before he could follow him into the shop. “All right, you stay here.” 

“Why?” Harry jutted his lower lip to make a moue of disappointment. 

“Because I’m preparing you a gourmet dinner and it’s a surprise,” he said. “It’s not often I cook, so don’t frown at me.” 

Harry blinked, obviously not expecting that answer. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“Can’t let my boy go to bed hungry, can I?” he asked, and was taken aback by how visibly Harry reacted to that, seeming to melt right before his eyes. He turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in for a kiss. 

He let himself enjoy one firm, sweet taste of Harry, and then told him sternly, “See, this is why you’re banished to the pavement: You’re a troublemaker. I won’t take long; just stand here and don’t wander off. Unless a stranger offers you sweets. Never say no to free sweets.” 

Harry nodded solemnly. “Sage advice.” 

True to his word, he was in and out of Tesco quickly, and wouldn’t let Harry peek into the bag he carried home. Once they were inside Harry’s flat and kicking off their shoes, he looked at Louis expectantly, and Louis said, “Go watch a cartoon while I cook.” 

It only took a minute to tear the plastic off of the sandwiches and open the packets of crisps he’d bought, and a minute more to add a layer of crisps to each sandwich. He put them on a plate, got two beers out of the fridge, and carried it all out to the living room with an air of grandeur. 

“Voilà!” he said, carefully setting the items down on the coffee table. “May I present you with the best sandwich you’ll ever have for less than two quid.” 

“You spoil me,” Harry said, picking one up and examining it. “Prawn?” 

“Prawn mayo with prawn cocktail crisps,” Louis said. “Only the best for you, my dear.” 

He picked up his own and sat next to Harry, nudging him with his elbow. “Go on, try it.” 

Harry started to take a bite, but seeing Louis’ pout, widened his mouth for a larger one. He made appreciative noises as he chewed, and Louis beamed at him. 

“Tomorrow I’ll make you my favourite sandwich,” Harry said around a full mouth. “Branston pickle, lettuce, cheese—” 

“Harold, please allow me to cherish my triumph rather than say you’d prefer something else,” Louis said disapprovingly. 

Harry hastily swallowed and tried to put an arm around Louis, who smacked it away. He persisted, managing to squeeze Louis to his side and smooch his neck noisily. “I wouldn't, though. You’re a master chef.” 

“Mmm,” Louis hummed noncommittally, noting how easily Harry held a sandwich one-handedly. It was almost a little private game he played, observing the size and amount of items Harry could grasp with his huge paws. For some reason, the ease with which this idiot ate a prawn sandwich with one hand turned Louis on to a ludicrous degree, just like every single other shouldn’t-be-this-sexy aspect of him. Even the way Harry’s tongue stuck out of his mouth as he took another bite, which was an entirely weird habit and there was absolutely no excuse for finding it so hot, mesmerised Louis, and he thought, _Bloody hell, there is honestly something wrong with me._

“You are stupidly hot,” he said accusingly, and Harry had the nerve to look startled. 

“It’s dumb,” he continued. “Stop it.” 

Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say, but his eyes sparkled and his plush lips quirked and it was charming and hot and irresistible and annoying. Louis groaned and deliberately turned his attention to the rerun of _Friends_ on the television. He could feel Harry staring at him. “Stop,” he demanded, leaning away until Harry’s arm fell off of his shoulders. “Use both hands.” 

Harry obediently held his sandwich like a human being instead of some big-handed mutant sex god. 

Still, Louis was a weak man in some regards, and couldn’t bring himself to tell Harry to keep his tongue in his unreasonably pretty mouth. Or to resist kissing it until it turned even plusher and prettier, later, when they were tangled together in the bed he was starting to think of as _ours_. 

* 

Louis usually let Harry wake up and shower first in the morning, preferring to get as much sleep as possible, but he was so full of nerves that he couldn’t get back to sleep after Harry’s phone alarm rang. He lay there listening to Harry brush his teeth, and not long after the shower turned on, he gave up and got out of bed. 

He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, calling out, “Hey,” once he was done. 

“I’m almost done!” Harry said. 

“Oh, I was about to join you…” he said. 

There was a small thud, a yelp, and Harry peeked out frantically from behind the shower curtain. “Really?” 

“What did you do?” he said. 

“Nothing. Dropped the shampoo on my foot. Come in,” Harry said. 

“Harold, you are an absolute oaf,” Louis said, throwing a flannel at him. It hit Harry’s face and he made a delayed attempt to catch it, his eyes never leaving Louis as he strode to the shower and stepped in. 

Louis bent to pick up the shampoo bottle and noticed the top of Harry’s foot was red from the impact. “Aw, babe, you hurt yourself,” he said as he straightened. 

“Nah,” Harry said dismissively, sliding eager hands over Louis’ hips, dimples out in full force, looking thrilled to have his hands on a wet, nude Louis. 

Louis caught himself smiling just as widely, but a wet, nude Harry was nothing short of exquisite. “Did you already wash your hair?” 

“You can do it again,” Harry said immediately, dropping his head forward. 

“You dummy; you just want to be pet,” Louis said, tousling his wet curls. 

“Then I’ll do yours,” Harry said, just as eagerly, and tried to take the shampoo away from Louis. 

“Put out your hands,” Louis said, and squirted a dollop into his cupped palms before stowing the bottle safely in the shower caddy and turning his back to Harry. A quick scalp massage was followed by Harry soaping him up from head to toe, not anywhere near as thoroughly as he did when they didn’t have to worry about being late for morning lectures, but still spending an unduly amount of time washing his favourite parts of Louis’ body. 

After they got out and dried off, Harry reached for the pump bottle of baby lotion he kept under the counter, and Louis held out a hand. “Can I have some?” 

“I’ll do it for you,” Harry said. 

Louis smirked. “You just want to keep touching my arse.” 

“And your arms,” Harry admitted freely. “You’ve got great biceps. And thighs. And abs.” 

“I do not have great abs,” Louis denied. 

“You do,” Harry said. “Look at them.” 

Louis looked down at himself. Despite the faint softness that Harry claimed to love, he had to admit that his abdomen was decently defined. Maybe not Harry’s level of muscle definition, and nowhere near Liam’s, but still nicely toned. 

“You have great everything,” Harry went on, and Louis rolled his eyes . 

“Roll your eyes all you want,” Harry said. “Doesn’t change the truth.” 

“I’m not going to bother arguing with you,” Louis said, “because I know if I point out my stubby fingers you’ll just—” 

“You could be a hand model!” Harry exclaimed, sounding appalled by the mere suggestion otherwise. 

“—do that,” Louis finished, shouldering past him to get out of the bathroom. “Help me pick out an outfit.” 

Harry trailed after him. “For what?” 

“I’m going to the studio, remember?” he said, pulling on a pair of clean pants before rifling through Harry’s wardrobe, where several of his own shirts hung. 

“Right… but why does it matter what you wear for a radio show?” Harry said, slipping on a pair of clean pants and ripped jeans. 

“Because they’ll probably take photos for the site,” Louis said. “Either way, I’m nervous and looking good will help me feel better.” 

“Why are you nervous?” Harry said. 

“Why do you think?” Louis asked exasperatedly. “I haven’t spoken to Greg since last weekend, when I got smashed and made an arse of myself.” 

“Well, what exactly happened? Where does all that stand?” Harry said. 

“I have no idea where we stand. He asked me to come by the studio this week, I said I would, and that’s it,” he said. “I don’t even want to go because I have no idea if he even still wants me there.” 

“If you don’t want to, then don’t,” Harry said. 

“I already told Laura I would,” Louis said. “You’re not helping. I’m going to go do my hair.” 

Harry usually liked to watch him sculpt his signature windswept fringe, but he didn’t follow him. It was just as well; it gave Louis a moment alone with his thoughts. 

In truth, he loved being on the radio, and he liked Greg, Laura, and Pippa. He was glad that at least Laura was definitely still cool with him. He was pretty sure the others would be, too. It was just awkward and embarrassing to show up without being certain. A text message wasn’t worth sending; the only way he’d know if he and Greg could remain friends was by seeing him in person. 

* 

Lectures flew by for once, probably because he was so ambivalent about going to the studio afterwards. As he walked to the bus stop, he tried ringing Harry. It went to voicemail, and he checked the time. Harry’s Friday lectures ended before Louis’; he should be out by now, probably on his way to Teasdale’s. 

His steps faltered when he saw Harry standing at the bus stop with a grin on his face. He grinned back, jogging up to him. “Hey!” he said. “What are you doing here?” 

“Thought you could use some moral support,” Harry said, leaning down to steal some kisses. 

“Thanks, babe,” Louis said. “You won’t be late for work, I hope?” 

“Actually,” Harry said, eyes intent on Louis’ face, “I took the day off.” 

“Why?” he said. 

“So I can come with you,” Harry said, grin fading when Louis just stared at him blankly. “You said were nervous.” 

“Well, yeah, because I’m worried it’ll be awkward…” Louis said. “No offence, but if you’re there, that would only make it worse.” 

Harry looked down at his feet. “Oh.” 

“I wish you’d asked first. I hate for you to lose a day’s wages for nothing,” Louis said. 

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Harry said, crossing his arms. 

“Okay.” Louis was a bit irritated to have to be the bad guy in this situation. “I just mean, if you’d _asked_ me, I could’ve told you not to come all the way here.” 

Instead of backing down, Harry said, “Why should I need to ask you? Laura invited me last night. If you don’t want me there, then I won’t go. That’s fine.” 

Louis could see his bus approaching. “Mate, honestly, I don’t have time for this. You _did_ need to ask me first; you should have. I appreciate you wanting to be there for me and it sucks you went to so much trouble, but that’s not my fault. I don’t feel bad.” 

“I don’t expect you to feel bad!” Harry was clearly struggling not to raise his voice. “When have you ever felt bad about it?” 

“What are you on about?” Louis said, thrown by his agitation. 

“You don’t want me there so you can be alone with Greg,” Harry blurted, and then bit his lip hard, as if frustrated with himself for saying it. 

It was such an illogical statement that it took Louis a moment to find words. “Mate… have you gone daft? If I wanted to be alone with Greg, I could’ve—” 

“Your bus is here,” Harry interrupted, staring past him. “You should go.” 

Louis glanced over his shoulder to see it pulling to a stop. He frowned, hating to leave on a sour note. “Do you want me to play you a song?” 

Harry shook his head, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “Doesn’t matter.” 

“Will you be listening?” Louis said. 

Harry shrugged. 

Louis heard the bus doors opening. He really did need to go. “Well, text me and let me know what you end up doing. Are you going to go into work?” 

Harry shrugged again. 

“So I guess I won’t ask for a good luck kiss,” Louis said wryly, spinning on his heel and walking away. He was a metre from the bus when Harry caught up to him and pulled him close. 

The kiss was insistent and tinged with desperation, a plea for understanding or forgiveness – Louis wasn’t sure. No sooner did it end than Harry was backing away, grimacing ruefully. “Good luck.” 

Even if Louis could think of the right things to say, he didn’t have time to say them. So he settled on, “Thanks,” and ran to catch his bus. 

* 

On the way to the studio, he called his mum for a pep talk. He might be twenty years old and living alone in London, but sometimes he still needed his mum to tell him everything would be okay. 

He was feeling much better until she said, “ _So Harry couldn’t get the day off, after all?_ ” 

“What?” he said. 

“ _When I texted him earlier, he said he was going to try to get off work so he could go with you_." 

“Mum!” he cried. “I gave you his number so that you could ask for gardening tips _one time_ , not so you could become best mates.” 

“ _Well, too late_ ,” she said unapologetically. “ _He told your Nan that he—”_

“Why is he talking to Nan?!” he screeched. 

“ _She remembers him and wanted to call him, and he said he didn’t mind if I passed along his number. Anyway, he told her that he_ loves _the photos I send him_.” 

Louis slapped a hand to his forehead. “What photos are you sending him?” 

“ _Hon, I’ve got to run._ ” 

“Mum!” he said. 

“ _Cute ones! Of you two when you were little, and of my flower garden… and my favourite ones of you as a child_." 

“Please tell me you didn’t send the one with the cowboy hat,” he said. 

“ _He loved that one!_ ” 

“Mum, why?!” he wailed. 

“ _Hon, I have to get back to work. Love you, sweetheart. Good luck. I’ll be listening_." 

“Delete his number!” he demanded. 

“ _Ta!_ ” she said cheerfully, and ended the call. 

He sighed, shaking his head and chuckling. He could never stay angry at his mum. 

_Show me EVERYTHING u sent him. EVERYTHING!!_ , he texted her. 

He cringed at the photographs of himself he got in reply, but when he received one of him and Harry sharing a bubble bath, he paused. His little arm was slung around Harry’s neck, their hair spiked into soapy fauxhawks as they smiled toothily at the camera. Bathing together now was fun in a much different way than it had been back then, but it was incredible to think how things had come full circle. 

He sent another text, this one to Harry. 

_u want to meet up after I’m done?_

* 

The station was milling with interns and staff all abuzz over Rihanna’s scheduled visit to Nick’s show. People were placing bets on how late she’d be, whether she’d show up at all, and how big of a fit Nick would have if she didn’t. He waved at several familiar faces, put a fiver on her showing up an hour tardy, and then hurried on his way before he was late himself. 

As it was, he was early. Only Greg was in the studio when he got there. 

“Uh, hi,” Louis said timidly. 

Greg smiled warmly. “You made it. I’m glad.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis said. “I’m happy to be here. Thanks for having me.” 

“Sit wherever you like,” Greg said, and Louis chose the same chair he’d sat in last time he was there. “Laura said she ran into you and Harry last night. Small world.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Louis said. 

Considering how many friends they had in common, it shouldn’t have surprised him when Greg added, “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time together. He’s a nice lad.” 

Louis nodded uneasily. 

“My copy of _He’s Just Not That Into You_ says I should take some ‘Me Time’, so that’s what I’ve been doing,” Greg joked. 

Louis stomach twisted and he could feel the heat rising in his face. 

“Oh god, sorry,” Greg said, when he stayed quiet. “That was my lame attempt at humour, but really, it’s all good. Please don’t feel uncomfortable; you’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Louis hesitated, and Greg picked up his cell phone, typed something, and said, “There: I’ve just tweeted that you’ll be on. If you back out now, your fans will descend upon the station with pitchforks.” 

Louis laughed, relaxing. “Right, my many fans.” 

“Mate, you’re an internet sensation,” Greg asserted. “I’m already getting requests for pics.” 

Louis made a face of mock-offence. “I feel like a piece of meat.” 

Pippa rushed into the studio, a Starbucks cup in one hand and a clipboard in the other. “Sorry, my meeting ran late. Where the hell is Laura? Has she got that segment ready?” 

“Yeah, we’re all set. She’s popped out for a snack,” Greg said, fiddling with his phone again. “She says she’s walking down the corridor.” 

“Hi, Louis,” Pippa said, sounding frazzled, and pointed to the computer in front of him. “Want to be a dear and check the show’s Twitter feed for me? It’s already logged in.” 

“I just checked it,” Greg said. “We’re getting loads of requests for the new Bruno Mars single.” 

“I want Louis to tweet something about the Teen Awards,” she said. 

“Like what?” Louis asked. 

“Just something about how you’re excited for it,” she said. 

“I definitely am!” he said. 

Laura breezed into the studio with a bag of crisps. “Ten till air.” 

“We know,” Pippa said. “Do you have Louis’ assignments for him?” 

“Yeah, give me your email address and I’ll send them to you in a bit,” Laura told him. 

Louis wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but rattled off his address to her and she scribbled it down. “Okay, quick rundown of today before we start,” she said. 

“Lou, can you put on your headphones and test your mic real quick?” Pippa called to him from her chair. 

It was a bit hectic as they did the final preparations, and then the show started, and the thrill of being live on the air was just as good as it had been the first time. 

* 

“Have a lovely evening. Next up is Zane Lowe with an interview with Frank Ocean,” Greg said a few hours later, as he linked the last few songs of his shift. “Don’t forget to check out our site for photos of our resident uni correspondent, DJ Tommo.” 

“And a special announcement: as per request by Twitter user @ohheyERIN, Grimmy and I _will_ be playing Innuendo Bingo next month,” Louis said. 

“Ooh, saucy!” Greg approved. “Keep an eye out for that. Louis will be wearing a white t-shirt so you can see his rippling abs.” 

“Please don’t objectify the Talent. I have my dignity,” Louis said. “But Grimmy will be in an Esther Williams swimming costume, so make sure to check it out!” 

He gestured to himself, checking that it was okay to take the airtime he’d requested earlier, and Greg nodded. “I’d also like to make a quick shout-out to me best mate Stan in Doncaster. He’s turning the big two-one on Tuesday. Happy Birthday, mate.” 

“And Happy Birthday from Radio One,” Greg put in. Laura threw in some celebratory sound effects. 

Louis raised his eyebrows at Laura gratefully. “Actually, I’ll be there next weekend to help him celebrate. I would like to warn his mum, if she’s listening—” 

“Who isn’t, mate?” Greg said. “This show is proper international. Shout out to all our American listeners!” 

“Big up to all the fans in Japan,” Louis played along. “We’ll be broadcasting live from Tokyo next week!” 

“Weh-hey!” Greg cheered. 

Louis laughed. “But if Stan’s enchanting mother is listening, I would like to assure her that her son is _not_ planning a huge rave at her house next Saturday, so she should definitely not cancel her holiday in Staithes.” 

“Spoken like a true friend,” Greg said. 

Louis took off his headphones as Greg finished the link, and when they were safely off air, he said, “Thanks again; he’ll be buzzing. God, the show flew by!” 

“No problem,” Greg said. “Did Laura send you your assignments for the Teen Awards?” 

“Yeah, she did. I’m trying not to get too nervous,” he said. “Still got a couple weeks to freak myself out.” 

“Did she mention anything else?” Greg said, following Louis out into the corridor, where Laura and Pippa met them. 

“You telling him?” Pippa said. 

“Telling me what?” Louis said. 

“We’d like to offer you an internship here,” Greg said. “If you’d be willing to quit your job at the tea shop. As you know, our Twitter blows up every time you’re on. So, typical boring intern stuff, but some On Air work too, and depending on how the Teen Awards go, maybe more guest corresponding.” 

Louis was dumbstruck. 

“Our interns get paid pretty decent,” Laura said, as if mistaking his silence for reluctance. 

“I’ll do it, of course!” Louis managed. “That’s – amazing! I honestly don’t know what to say!” 

“Say yes,” Pippa said. 

“Yeah, yes!” Louis said, laughing in disbelief. 

“When can you start?” Laura asked. 

“Right away!” he said. “I need to give two weeks’ notice at Cuppa, but I can work both until then.” 

“No need for that,” Laura said. “You’ll start in two weeks from tomorrow, then.” 

“Great!” he said. 

“This calls for a celebration,” Pippa said. “Let’s go for dinner.” 

Louis hesitated. 

“Have you got other plans?” Greg asked. 

He didn’t, not really, but he wasn’t sure if Harry was waiting on him. He’d gotten no response to the text he’d sent on the way to the station, nor reactions to the things he’d done on air, not even when he’d linked the new Daft Punk song by saying ‘punks who don’t answer text messages are the daftest ones of all’. No one could accuse Louis of being too subtle for his own good. “I’m not really sure…” 

“Another time, then,” Greg said, making the decision for him. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis said. 

“Okay, well, I’m hungry, so we’re off,” Laura said, threading her arm through Pippa’s. “See you soon.” 

“Bye!” Pippa called as they left, and Louis waved. 

“Can I give you a ride?” Greg asked him. 

“That’s okay. I can take the bus,” he said. “I’m just going home.” 

“I insist,” Greg said. “There’s actually a really great Indian takeaway on the way. Do you fancy a curry? My treat.” 

“Um... okay, but _my_ treat,” Louis said. He’d need enough for two, and having Greg pay for food to take home to Harry was a bit much. 

“Fair enough,” Greg said. “But I’ll warn you now that I order extra naan. Could get pricey.” 

Louis smiled. “I’ll take my chances.” 

* 

Louis had liked Greg from the start, and nothing had changed. He was still handsome and clever and fun to be around. There had just never been that spark between them, and that hadn’t changed either. Now that Louis could accept the fact that Greg was an ideal boyfriend, but not ideal _for him_ , he could appreciate his great qualities without worrying that he was letting an opportunity slip away. There was nothing between them but friendship, and his grasp on that was firmer with each shared laugh. 

They talked over cups of chai as they waited for their orders to arrive, and kept talking all the way home. When they pulled up to the front of his building, Louis found himself wishing the drive had been longer. 

“Well, thanks for the ride… and for everything else,” he said. 

“Wait, before you go,” Greg said, his tone turning serious. “I just want to make sure you understand that we didn’t offer you the internship because I think you’re fit. We offered it to you because the _listeners_ think you’re fit.” 

“Oh thanks.” Louis mimed slapping him. 

Greg put up a hand as if to block the blow. “Jokes aside, I hope you know: you got it because you’re genuinely good.” 

Louis pursed his lips, shy but flattered. “Thank you.” 

“Anyway, I’ve decided that fit and funny isn’t even my type,” Greg said. 

“Oh, no?” Louis asked. 

“Yeah, I think plain and dull might suit me better,” he said. 

“Opposites attract, I guess,” Louis said. 

“They often do,” Greg said, and it was clear that he wasn’t referring to himself anymore. 

Louis lifted his chin briefly in acknowledgment. “Sometimes." 

Greg mimicked the gesture. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Louis.” 

“Me too,” he said sincerely. “I’ll text you once I know my work schedule for next week and let you know what day I’ll be coming by the show.” 

Greg put out a fist, and Louis laughed and bumped it with his own. Then he took his bag of takeaway and told his new boss goodnight. 

* 

He was in good spirits, ready to smooth things over with delicious-smelling curry and fresh naan, when he saw a sign taped to Harry’s door. 

**Do Not Disturb!**

A rush of adrenaline set his pulse racing. No way. There was no fucking way that Harry would have someone else in there after one stupid argument. No way would Harry let Louis come home and have to sleep next door to whatever was going on in there. 

There must be another explanation. He would just send Harry a text and ask. Yeah, great idea. Send another text for Harry to ignore. 

Well, one thing he definitely _wasn’t_ going to do was set his takeaway down by the side of the door and then pound his fist against it so hard that it rattled in its frame and— 

the door swung open and Harry whispered viciously, “What the hell! Can’t you read? I just got her in bed!” 

It was like an out-of-body experience; Louis watched himself shove Harry out of the way and barge into the flat, striding across the living room and towards the closed bedroom door with all the calm of psychopath. 

“Don’t open that!” Harry hissed, chasing after him, but Louis was like a man possessed. 

Consequences be damned, he flung the door open, eyes darting to the bed only to find… nothing. 

The bed was empty. 

The playpen set up by the foot of the bed wasn’t, though, as evidenced when a little blonde head popped up and a high-pitched voice said, “Mama?” 

“Lay down, Lux,” Harry said sweetly, glaring at Louis as he brushed past him to get to the child. “It’s sleepy time. Where’s your baba?” 

“Baba?” she said, watching Harry root around in her playpen. 

“Here,” he said, handing her a bottle. “Lay down.” 

“No,” she said, and looked at Louis. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he croaked, mortification running bone deep. 

“Hi,” she repeated, and looked at Harry. “Hi.” 

“Come on, lay down,” he coaxed. 

“No!” She lifted her arms beseechingly. 

Harry shook his head. “Lay down, Lux.” 

“I’ll just…” Louis trailed off, backing out of the doorway. Harry didn’t spare him a glance. He retrieved the bag of takeaway he’d abandoned in the corridor and considered leaving, but decided it was better to face the music. 

He sat on the sofa to arrange their meal on the coffee table. Harry stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him as a wail rose up from inside. Louis cringed at Lux’s cries. “I’m so sorry.” 

Harry shook his head shortly. “It’s fine. She’ll stop soon.” 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Louis said, which was a total lie, but he was hardly going to admit what had really been going through his mind. 

Harry’s head tilted to the side, as if he was just figuring it out. “You thought I had someone here?” 

“You did, technically,” Louis evaded. 

Harry blinked, looking more intrigued than annoyed now. “Were you—” 

“Hungry?” Louis interrupted. 

To his relief, Harry said, “Yeah,” and sat on the other end of the sofa. 

They divided the food and began to eat, but Louis couldn’t stand the silence for long. “Why didn’t you text me?” 

“I was busy with Lux,” Harry said. “Tom and Lou wanted a date night, and I wasn’t busy, so…” 

It was a flimsy excuse; Harry was a phone addict. There was no way he hadn’t had a chance to text Louis back for four solid hours. “You were ignoring me.” 

Harry poked at his food. 

“Did you listen to the show?” Louis asked. 

“Some of it,” Harry said. 

“Well, I have good news,” he said. “You’re the first to hear it.” 

Harry looked both wary and curious. 

“They offered me a job,” he continued. “A paid internship.” 

“For Greg’s show?” Harry clarified, and when Louis nodded, he said, “Congratulations.” 

“Yeah…” Louis said, looking down at his curry. 

“Hey,” Harry said, and when Louis looked up, he smiled broadly. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” 

Louis grinned. “Thanks. It’s kind of exciting.” 

“Very exciting,” Harry agreed. 

“Hey, what are you doing next weekend?” he said impulsively. 

Harry shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing in particular. Why?” 

“How about a trip to Doncaster?” he said. 

“What do you mean?” Harry said. 

“Stan’s birthday party. Do you want to come with me? I’d love for you to finally meet him,” he said. “I know it’s last minute, but if you can get the time off, I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Not like last night when you promised me a blowjob and then fell asleep.” 

Harry snorted. “Your fault for feeding me.” 

“And then tonight we’ve got a crib in our room. We’re like an old married couple,” Louis complained. 

Harry bit his lip and smiled. 

“Sad situation,” Louis lamented. 

“It’s not sad,” Harry said, leaning forward as if to kiss. 

Louis reared back. “I’ve got curry breath.” 

The expression on Harry’s face made it clear he couldn’t care less. “I’ve got naan breath; it’ll taste great together,” he reasoned. 

Louis threw his head back and laughed. When he straightened, Harry was still in place, smiling softly. “You think if you sit like that long enough, you can wear me down,” Louis said. 

Harry’s smile grew. “Good things come to those who wait.” 

“But will it be worth the wait?” Louis questioned. 

“Yes.” He sounded utterly confident. 

Louis grunted doubtfully, but kissed him. It was buttery and spicy and electrifying. Lips still brushing as he spoke, Harry whispered, “See?” 

“Maybe you’re smarter than you look,” Louis allowed. “But I don’t think it’s the curry breath; I think you’re just a brilliant kisser.” 

“It’s from all the practice I’ve had snogging my pillow and pretending it was you,” Harry teased. 

“You’re saying it like it’s a joke, but I can tell you’re serious,” Louis said. 

“Of course I am,” Harry agreed, reaching for another slice of naan. 

Louis didn’t want to ruin the good mood, or rehash the argument, because he still felt he wasn’t in the wrong in that particular instance, but he wanted to clear up one point that had been bothering him. “Earlier, when you said I never feel bad – that’s not true. Nothing makes me feel worse than fighting with you.” 

Harry’s mouth crumpled with emotion as he stared at Louis. Then he said, as if it were that simple, “Then let’s not do it again.” 

This pretty boy and his pretty words; it was completely unfair that he should be so earnest and so quixotic at the same time. That talent should be reserved for protagonists in Disney films and Greek mythology. Louis had always been the type to fly too close to the sun; the first in line for a ride on a magic carpet. But Harry wasn’t merely offering of an adventure; he was asking for so much in return. 

A belief in the absurd. Faith. 

Never fight again? It was a stupid thing to say. Of course they would fight at times; they were human. Louis had never bothered to say words he didn’t mean, or to make promises he couldn’t possibly keep. What would it be like, to let himself make an impossible promise and _mean_ it? 

“We’ll probably fight in ten minutes over who has to clean this up,” he said, indicating their dinner. 

“Mmm,” Harry concurred. 

“Then…” Louis looked at Harry. He never wanted to fight with him again. He wanted to believe they never would. Even if it only lasted ten minutes, for ten minutes it could be true. “Okay.” 

Harry’s face lit up, and Louis kissed him for being so pretty through and through, and because they would never fight again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those that leave comments. I appreciate the support and love to hear from you. And thank you for the kudos, and to those that rec my fic. Thank you xxx
> 
> My apologies for the delay. I could go into all the reasons why, but I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm back now. Not far left to go, 1 or 2 chapters (or maybe 1.5). 
> 
> I wrote a one-shot a while back, called _Up to the Hills_. It's 1D in nursery school (don't judge me!) Here's the link, if you're interested: [http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/1417713 ](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/1417713)


	10. Chapter 10

The week flew by for Louis. He and Harry were in great moods, looking forward to their trip to Doncaster. On Monday, he’d resigned from Cuppa. His boss was sad to see him go, but everyone was supportive and excited about his internship. Tuesday, Liam, Zayn, and Niall had joined him and Harry out for drinks to celebrate. Wednesay, he’d gone out with his long-neglected uni friends, and as expected, Harry fit seamlessly into their world of cheap drinks and 3 a.m. kebabs. Thursday, he’d gone by the radio station to fill out paperwork, popping on air for a few minutes to announce that he was officially employed by Radio One. The show’s Twitter mentions had exploded at that, excited fans even made **Intern Louie** a UK-wide trending topic. It was extremely flattering and a bit daunting. He’d tweeted out a spelling correction of his name from the show’s Twitter account, and promised to make a personal account soon. 

They decided to skip their Friday lectures, and although Harry had made no objection when Louis suggested it, he couldn’t help but think he wasn’t the best influence. Everything in Harry’s life had become less organised since Louis entered it, including his flat. Louis had more than a few articles of clothing crammed into the wardrobe and chest of drawers (folded and hung by Harry), shoes lined neatly along the wardrobe floor, toiletries in the bathroom, and he’d even taken over the bedside table on the side he slept. There was little enough room already, with some of Zayn’s stuff usurping storage space, and Louis felt a twinge of guilt every time he brought over something from his own flat. It was just so much more convenient to keep things at Harry’s. 

Harry claimed he didn’t mind, that he found housework relaxing (a concept that baffled Louis), and that there was plenty of room. The one time Louis tried to take his clean laundry home, Harry scooped it out of his arms and told him not to bother. He tried to do his part; accompanying Harry to the launderette, paying for his fair share of washing powder and food, and keeping them in perfectly-brewed tea. In fact, he was just finishing off his morning cup and debating drinking Harry’s, who had yet to come claim his, but decided to give him one more chance. 

He went to the bedroom and lingered in the doorway, absentmindedly stroking the stretch of skin above the waistband of his pants, watching Harry pack his bag for the weekend. Harry stood nude; a thoughtful expression on his face as he folded a pair of jeans Louis had never seen him wear. 

“Your tea’s getting cold. You cooking breakfast or do you wanna stop at a restaurant? We’ve got time to spare,” Louis said. 

“In a minute,” Harry mumbled. 

“Can I put some stuff in your bag?” Louis said, wandering over. “Mine’s full.” 

“You’ve already packed enough clothes for a week, much less a weekend,” Harry said. 

Louis bit his shoulder in protest, but Harry didn’t even flinch. “What do you even need to bring? You wear the same thing every day.” 

“Just in case,” Harry said vaguely, patting Louis’ cheek when he bit him again. 

Louis got in his face and sneered exaggeratedly, playing a bully. “Look here, you little pipsqueak—” 

Harry’s eyes lit up with amusement, flickering from Louis’ sleep-rumpled hair to his snarled upper lip. 

“—hand over the bag and no one gets hurt,” he growled. 

There was a pause, as if Harry was too overwhelmed with delight to even function, and then he roared a battle cry, grabbing Louis around the waist and throwing him onto the bed. 

“Aah!” Louis shouted, flailing as Harry climbed atop him. He bucked up, trying to upheave him. “Get off me, you curly fatso!” 

Harry’s giggles were shrill and breathless; a goofy, crooked grin on his face as he wrestled Louis down, pinning him by his wrists. 

“Oh-ho, getting brave, are ya?” Louis pushed one of his thighs into Harry’s crotch threateningly. 

Instead of backing off, Harry ground himself against it, letting Louis feel his half-hard cock. Their eyes met and Louis slowly smirked. “So that’s how it is.” 

Harry licked his lips, his gaze falling to Louis’ mouth, then trailing down his neck and chest. 

“Gonna have to give you something first?” Louis teased, rubbing Harry with his thigh. 

Harry made a noise of agreement, and Louis moved his leg so they could grind their hips together, watching their growing erections trapped between them. Louis bit back a moan when he saw how wide Harry’s pupils were blown and how his full lips were parted, tongue sneaking out to wet them. 

“Well, tell me what you want,” Louis said lowly. 

Harry shook his head slightly and inhaled, and Louis knew what that meant. 

“Then it’s what I want,” Louis said, testing the hold on his wrists. Harry’s eyes glinted and he tightened his grip, flaunting his strength while awaiting his orders, and Louis’ abdomen clenched as a rush of heat hit him. 

“I want your hands,” Louis decided. “I want to see you wrap one of your big hands around both our cocks and bring us off together.” 

Harry didn’t move for a long moment, then abruptly released Louis’ wrists to strip him. Louis tipped his hips helpfully as Harry slid his pants down his legs and threw them aside. He seemed to get distracted by Louis’ ankles, caressing them as if they were fascinating. Louis pointed his toes, trying to break Harry out of whatever weird spell he’d fallen under, but a small smile formed on his face instead, and he petted the tops of Louis’ feet and pinched his toes. 

“Have you got a foot fetish I should know about?” Louis said. 

Harry laughed, squeezing one of Louis’ pinkie toes. “No, I hate feet.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Louis said. 

“Yours are the exception,” Harry said, crawling up the bed when Louis crooked a finger at him. 

“Don’t I feel special?” he teased. 

“You’re very special,” Harry said, in that ingenuous way that made Louis hit him ’round the head not near as hard as he would anyone else who said something so soppy. Resistance was futile, anyway, because all it did was make Harry pepper kisses everywhere, on Louis’ eyelashes and throat and collarbones, and make it _feel_ so true that it was impossible to disagree when he said it again. “You’re so special to me, Louis. Only you.” 

His heart was thumping and twisting simultaneously and he didn’t know how to react. He’d been prepared for the effect Harry had on his body, but he couldn’t quite catch up to his emotions; this felt far too intense for a cheeky morning romp. 

“C’mon,” he said desperately, wrapping a leg around Harry and rolling his hips. He didn’t want any more words. Their physical connection was no less overwhelming, but at least it drove him senseless, so he could lose himself in the sensations and not worry about why it was so good with Harry; why it had never even come close with anyone else. There didn’t need to be reasons when they were pressed skin to skin. 

* 

The best part about riding the train in the middle of the day was that it was practically empty. They sat beside each other at a table, their bags stowed on the seats across from them. The first twenty minutes of the trip was spent eating pastries they’d bought near the station. Louis had wanted to go to McDonald’s, but Harry had persuaded him into a posh bakery, and he had to admit that the food was delicious. 

“I’ll never doubt you again,” Louis told him, enjoying the proud look on Harry’s face. “You’re clearly an authority on overpriced food.” 

“You get what you pay for. Those are perfectly ripe,” Harry said, indicating the cup of fresh berries in Louis’ hands. 

Louis popped a blueberry in his mouth and nodded. “Still not sure if they’re worth six quid.” 

Seeing a pout forming on Harry’s face, Louis hastened to kiss it into a smile. “Lucky for me I had you around to foot the bill.” 

“You paid for all our groceries last week,” Harry pointed out. 

“That’s true, even though I did it because you paid the week before. Clearly, you’re a freeloader who’s using me for sex and cereal,” Louis agreed. 

“No, just sex,” Harry said. “I can’t use you for cereal because you never let me pick it.” 

“That’s because you always want cornflakes. Cornflakes are shit,” Louis said. 

Harry gasped, looking affronted. “They are not!” 

“Alright, they’re not shit, but they’re shit compared to Coco Puffs,” Louis said. “Anyway, I bought you bananas, didn’t I? I don’t even like them.” 

“Yes, you did,” Harry said, with far more appreciation than a quid’s worth of fruit warranted. Louis set his cup of berries on the table and hooked a hand around the back of Harry’s neck. Harry raised his eyebrows when Louis smiled mischievously. 

“Kiss me,” Louis whispered. 

Harry grinned, dimples carved deep in his cheeks, and dove in, pulling Louis close for a proper snog. They embraced clumsily, grappling and snickering, banging their elbows on the furniture and nipping at each other’s lips, until Louis licked into Harry’s mouth in a way that made him go instantly pliant. It kept them entertained for a good half hour, veering between slow and sweet to rough and playful over and over, until Harry tried to reposition himself and slammed his knees against the table. 

“Fuck! Ow!” he cried, clutching his kneecaps. 

“Well, who told you to grow your legs so long?” Louis said unsympathetically, but stretched over the table to rifle through his bag. “Here, I’ve got some medicine for you.” 

He produced a large package of M&Ms and shook it at Harry. “More health food.” 

Harry was still wincing, but looked amused. “How is that healthy?” 

“They’ve got peanuts in ’em, babe. That’s protein, innit?” Louis said, tearing it open. 

Harry held out a cupped palm for Louis to pour some into it. “Do you think we’ll have time to stop by Jennifer’s this weekend?” 

“Who?” Louis said, thumping his head back against his seat when he realised— “Please tell me you’re not talking about my nan.” 

Harry looked relaxed and content despite his disheveled curls and kiss-swollen lips. “She has her book club on Sunday, so maybe Saturday—” 

“Why do you know that?” Louis groaned. 

“She asked me for tips on arranging delphiniums,” Harry said. “It’s fine; I’ll just FaceTime her.” 

“What is my life?” Louis complained, munching on chocolates. 

“She sent me the funniest picture of us playing superheroes,” Harry said. “Wearing towels for capes.” 

Louis scoffed, but said, “Send it to me.” 

His nan had always had a soft spot for Harry. He could remember playing pirates in the back garden during her visits, how she’d bring them sandwiches and juice boxes so that they wouldn’t have to leave the hammock that served as their ship to eat lunch. She was mostly immune to Louis’ tricks when it came to wheedling sweets out of her, but all Harry had to do was bat his big green eyes and say _Pretty please?_ and she’d sneak them something nice. 

“You know how we always say fate picked us to be best mates?” Louis said. “What if it’s really you and my nan?” 

Harry squinted, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting theory.” 

“Wouldn’t really be fair,” Louis mused. “She’s already got my granddad. They’ve been together since she was my age.” 

“I know,” Harry said. “They met at the post office.” 

“How do you know that? I didn’t even know that,” Louis said. “They’ve been together forty-two years. Isn’t that amazing?” 

Harry’s eyes were flitting over Louis’ face, a soft smile on his lips. 

“What?” Louis asked. 

“I’m trying to imagine you in forty-two years,” Harry said. 

“Oh god.” Louis grimaced. “I’ll probably be dead.” 

Harry laughed. “You’ll only be sixty-two.” 

“Okay, so I’ll just _wish_ I were dead,” Louis said. 

“You’ll be a distinguished older gentleman.” Harry smoothed Louis’ fringe and petted the hair at his temples. “Maybe a streak of silver on each side.” 

Louis made a gross face. “Don’t imagine me all old and wrinkly.” 

“I’ll be old and wrinkly, too.” Harry grinned, as if the idea of them as pensioners pleased him. 

Louis petted Harry’s temples and said, “With a receding hairline!” 

Harry’s jaw dropped, then he pouted, but his eyes were twinkling. “I could be handy mending a fuse when your lights have gone.” 

It took Louis a moment to place the seeming non sequitur, and he rolled his eyes when he did. “I can mend my own fuses, thanks. And I won’t be learning to knit anytime soon.” 

“I’ll learn,” Harry compromised. 

“What makes you think I want to be seen on the Isle of Wight with a slaphead with a bunch of faded tattoos?” Louis said. 

“I’ll knit myself a toupee.” Harry grinned when Louis laughed. 

He poked Harry’s dimple. “Don’t think you’re clever quoting Beatles lyrics at me. I can do the same.” 

“Oh?” Harry said. 

“Picture yourself on a train in a station,” Louis said, arching his eyebrows challengingly. 

Harry nodded and lifted his arm for Louis to snuggle under. He burrowed into Harry’s side, digging around in the M&Ms. He found a green one and fed it to Harry, who accepted it gladly. He shoved a small handful into his own mouth, and was crunching noisily when Harry murmured in his ear, “There are places I remember all my life though some have changed.” 

Louis paused, then resumed chewing, and declared loudly, with tiny pieces of chocolate falling from his lips, “Everybody’s got something to hide except for me and my monkey.” 

Harry barked a laugh and slapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Louis smirked in triumph and searched for another green. 

* 

Stan picked them up from the station, and if there should have been the atmosphere of two strangers meeting, there wasn’t. Maybe because he and Harry had heard so much about each other from Louis that they felt like they were already friends. A bunch of his old mates were waiting for them at Stan’s house, with a fridge full of beer and hamburgers on the grill. Louis had known a couple of them (Geoff and Joe) since primary school, a few others (Matt, Ryan, and Michael) they’d only known since college, but most were guys they’d met in secondary school, either from the football team or drama club. The story of Harry and Louis meeting as children and reuniting in London was a great icebreaker, and a tale that Louis loved to tell. 

“Anyone who doesn’t believe in fate is lying to themselves,” he liked to finish. “What else can you call that?” 

“An epic coincidence?” Geoff said. 

“Nah, mate. Fate knows a Dream Team when she sees one,” Louis said. “Which we will now demonstrate by kicking everyone’s arse in FIFA.” 

“Thought you wanted to play a real game?” Stan said. 

“I was thinking we’d wait till dark, when we’re all wasted. I brought my glow-in-the-dark ball I got off this knobhead,” Louis said, mussing Harry’s curls. Harry beamed proudly, the daft little bugger, and Louis had no choice but to smudge a kiss on his temple. 

“Who’s on my team then?” Stan asked. “Destiny’s Children versus the Doncaster Arseblasters.” 

“Jesus, I was about to volunteer but not if we’re called that.” Geoff grimaced. 

“Well, someone man up, because I’m starting the game,” Stan said, heading inside. 

“I’ll do it,” said Jake, one of the guys from drama club. 

“Of course you want to be an arseblaster,” said Joe, and Louis looked at Jake for his response. 

He’d always suspected Jake might be gay, and the way he wiggled his eyebrows at Joe confirmed it. 

Their group was a blend of straight and gay guys, and Louis had only stayed in casual contact with most of them since leaving for university. He was a little annoyed that no one had bothered to mention that Jake, the fittest bloke in their group, was into men. Not that it really mattered; it just would’ve been good to know. There had been times, back in secondary school, when Louis had been sure he felt sexual tension between them – it was nice to confirm it wasn’t all in his head. It was a bit of a shame, really, that neither of them had been out back then. 

“Need another?” 

Louis snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Harry, who was standing in front of him, hand out towards Louis’ near-empty beer. He drained the dregs of it and reached for Harry’s bottle instead. “I got it.” 

Harry trailed him into the kitchen, crowding Louis as he took two bottles from the fridge. “Want me to open them?” 

“Think I can handle it,” Louis smirked, popping the tops off and giving one to Harry. “Go choose your player.” 

“Can I get a kiss first?” Harry said, and for someone who resented being called cute, he had a tendency to look like a scruffy, wide-eyed kitten when he asked for something. 

“Come ’ere, you geek,” Louis murmured, grabbing the back of Harry’s neck and lifting up onto his toes to reach his lips. He spanked him once, hard, and led the way to the living room. 

The FIFA tournament lasted until dark, Harry and Louis maintaining their status of an unbeatable duo. They’d ordered pizza for dinner and put a healthy dent in the beer supply, and around nine o’clock, they walked down to their old secondary school to sneak onto the football pitch. At some point, someone (probably Stan, but Louis couldn’t remember) came up with the brilliant idea to make it strip football. Every time one team scored, the other had to take off an item of clothing. 

Before long, everyone was running around in their pants, trampling their shirts and jeans where they’d been discarded carelessly in the grass. When it began to rain, all hell broke loose, and soon they were running around aimlessly, shouting and chucking their shoes at each other’s heads. It was fucking brilliant, and Louis couldn’t have dreamed up a better first night of taking Harry home to meet his friends. 

Eventually, someone sobered up enough to point out that they all had their phones in their jeans’ pockets, so they should probably get them out of the mud and pray they still worked. They trudged home, clothes slung around their necks rather than bothering to put them back on, and when they reached the street where Stan lived, Louis grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him past it. 

Harry didn’t protest, but Joe noticed and called, “Where ya going, Tommo?” 

“Home!” he called back. “No use waiting for the shower at Stan’s when I’m just around the corner.” 

“Sure, that’s why,” Joe returned slyly, and Louis raised his middle finger at him but didn’t break his stride. 

“D’you have the key?” Harry asked, twisting his wrist out of Louis’ grasp so he could entwine their fingers. 

“We’ve got a spare hidden by the backdoor,” Louis told him. His mother and stepfather had taken his sisters to Staithes with Stan’s parents, so they’d have the place to themselves. Harry playing football was always delightful, but the sight of a rain-soaked Harry in nothing but a pair of pants, laughing and clumsy, had only one thing on Louis’ mind, and it didn’t involve a houseful of his mates. 

It wasn’t until they got inside that they noticed how filthy they really were. They kicked off their shoes in the foyer and dumped their clothes in a wet pile, stripping off their pants and socks as well. Louis sent Stan a text saying they’d be back when they woke up in the morning, but didn’t wait for a reply before setting his phone next to Harry’s on the console table. 

“This way,” he said, slapping Harry’s pert little bum as he passed him to lead the way to the bathroom. 

“Shouldn’t we put our clothes in the washing machine first?” Harry said, as they went up the stairs. 

Louis glanced over his shoulder at him. “Stop staring at my bum!” 

“Never,” Harry said firmly, grabbing for him. 

Louis ran up the rest of the steps and down the corridor, Harry chasing him, and they crashed into each other in the bathroom doorway. 

“Oww,” Harry whined unconvincingly, pouting as Louis rolled his eyes and turned on the shower. As soon as the water warmed up, they stepped in, Louis letting Harry have the spot closest to the spray. He rubbed away the goosebumps on Harry’s biceps, kissing a little bruise on the right one. 

“Warming up?” he asked, and Harry nodded. “Turn around.” 

Harry turned and tipped his head back, either as a request or because he knew what Louis meant. He took his time lathering Harry’s curls, massaging his scalp and scritching the bottom of his hairline until Harry’s shoulders drooped in a sweet, relaxed manner. 

“You tired, babe?” Louis murmured. 

“Mm-mm,” Harry denied. “Feels good.” 

“Good,” Louis said, rising up to press his mouth to the base of Harry’s neck. 

He knew that Harry loved when Louis did that, but they were usually not standing when he did, and Louis let out a startled laugh when Harry’s knees buckled and his hand shot out to catch himself against the wall. 

“We’re not going to shower together anymore if you injure yourself every time,” Louis said. 

“Didn’t,” Harry protested, turning around again to rinse his hair. Louis took the opportunity to stroke Harry’s exquisite torso, trying not to seem openly worshipful as he slid his fingers into the cut of his v-line and caressed the ridges of his abdomen. 

“Okay, come on,” he said, picking up the shampoo again, this time for himself. “Hurry it up. Shower sex sucks and I want to blow you.” 

Harry laughed happily and reached for the soap. 

* 

Louis’ old bedroom was like a shrine to his childhood self. His mum hadn’t let his sisters take it over, perhaps hoping it would entice him to come home more often. As much as he teased Harry for being a momma’s boy, Louis was even worse, but he rarely got the chance to visit. Now that he wouldn’t be working weekends anymore, he’d be able to do it. Yet another perk of the internship. 

He flopped across his bed and looked at Harry, who was taking his time inspecting Louis’ room. The collage of photos on his wall, the football awards, the Power Rangers Megazord action figure he’d had since he was a kid. 

“I totally remember this,” Harry said, fiddling with its arm. 

“Do ya?” Louis said. “Yeah, I got it for my sixth birthday, so I would’ve had it when I met you.” 

“You barely ever let me play with it,” Harry accused, scowling playfully. 

“Mate, that was my prized possession,” Louis said. “I didn’t let most people lay a finger on it, so you should feel honoured.” 

Harry smiled at that, and then his eyes landed on the mirrored double-doors of Louis’ wardrobe. “I like that.” 

“What?” Louis said, glancing at his reflection in the doors. His hair was drying funny; he pushed his fringe off his forehead. 

Harry came over to the bed and looked down at Louis, then over at their reflection. They were both nude, but Louis was so used to being naked around Harry that it wasn’t inherently sexual anymore. Harry could turn him on fully clothed just as easily as he could wearing only his dimples; the distinction was far more subtle than just dressed or undressed. It was the way Harry’s eyes would darken and simmer, the way his attention – which he always so generous in giving to Louis – would sharpen into something covetous, and everything about him would exude a delicious sort of predatory awareness. It turned Harry into the loveliest playground imaginable for Louis. 

Harry prodded Louis’ shoulder, silently entreating him to roll over. He went slowly, and as soon as he was on his stomach, Harry pushed Louis’ face into the mattress and bit the nape of his neck as he crawled onto the bed. Harry slapped the insides of Louis’ thighs. He grunted indignantly but spread his legs, giving Harry room to settle between them. He stayed still as Harry licked and nibbled his way down Louis’ spine. When Harry’s tongue reached the small of his back, Louis arched suggestively. Harry sat up and Louis craned his neck to look over his shoulder at him. He was staring at Louis’ back intently. 

He laid his hands on Louis arse, perfectly cupping the curves of each cheek, and slid his thumbs into the crease, spreading him to expose his hole. Louis crossed his arms and buried his face in them, embarrassed but too turned on to object. He wanted Harry to see him, touch him, do whatever he wanted with him. 

“I’m obsessed with this arse,” Harry said, rough and low. 

Louis could feel his body temperature rising, as if struck with a sudden fever. He hoped he sounded more brazen than breathless when he said, “You talking to me?” 

“No,” Harry retorted. “Mind your own business.” 

Louis smirked, turning his head toward their reflection. Harry was watching them, too, as he eased his hips forward, thumb pressing the dripping head of his cock to Louis’ hole. 

“I’m obsessed with this body,” Harry said, nudging against him as if he intended to enter him, and even though he knew it was just a tease, it made Louis’ breath hitch. “And I think it likes me, too.” 

“There’s a brain in this body, you know,” Louis said, narrowing his eyes when their gazes met in the mirror. 

Harry froze for a split-second, as if worried he’d actually offended Louis. He climbed off the bed and stood at the foot at it. Before Louis could say he was only joking, Harry grabbed his ankles and hauled him down the mattress, chuckling and saying, “That goes beyond obsession.” 

Louis made plenty of noise – “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You want a kick in the face?!” – but let Harry arrange him so that he was on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed. Harry took his time, checking the mirror and repositioning him several times before he was satisfied. 

“Setting up a little show for yourself, are you?” Louis taunted. 

“Yup,” Harry said shamelessly. “Where’s your lube?” 

“Pretty sure there’s some in the bedside table, bottom drawer,” Louis said. Harry had to walk by him to retrieve it, and Louis swiped at him lazily. “Oi, I can see your willy.” 

He reached for a pillow, but Harry took it out of his hand and threw it to the floor. “No, it’ll get in the way.” 

“My comfort is more important than your live porn,” Louis said, but Harry ignored him. 

When Harry was knelt behind him, Louis couldn’t help admiring how good they looked together. His eyes trailed up the reflection of Harry’s flawless body; when it got to his face, he caught Harry smirking at him. Louis stuck his tongue out. 

Harry spanked him, just once, and Louis rocked with it, bowing his back to accentuate the lines of his body. Harry gripped Louis’ arse and squeezed, and Louis groaned, dropping his head forward. Harry’s hand was in his hair immediately, grabbing a handful and angling his face toward the mirror. 

“Wanna see you,” Harry said quietly. 

Louis struggled to keep his eyes open as Harry licked stripes up the back of his thighs. His arms shook and threatened to buckle when Harry finally spread his cheeks and dove in, mouthing wetly at his hole, nipping and sucking at it. Louis was undulating his hips wantonly; it would’ve been embarrassing if he wasn’t so out of his mind with pleasure. 

The sight of them in the mirrors made him moan loudly; Harry’s face buried in his arse, a large hand clutching his thigh. Harry tongued him hungrily, pushing a finger inside of him, and Louis’ arms gave out. He whimpered when Harry pulled away. 

“Too much?” 

He shook his head, whining as Harry’s finger slid out of him. He could hear Harry moving around, and took the opportunity to catch his breath. 

“I wanna watch you fuck,” Harry said, manhandling him easily; Louis pliable from arousal. Harry lay on his back, watching their reflection as he guided Louis astride him. Louis looked behind him, where Harry was holding his dick in place; it was already sheathed and lubed. “Sit on my cock.” 

He sank back on it obediently, gasping as it breached him. “Fuck yeah, Louis. Take it all.” 

He exhaled carefully as he eased himself down, his head falling back when he was finally fully seated on Harry’s cock. 

“Oh god.” Harry was running his hands all over Louis’ body, stroking his torso, hips, and thighs greedily. “You look so fucking good. Louis, you’re so hot. You’re fucking perfect.” 

Louis could barely understand what he was saying; he was so out of it, but the warmth of Harry’s tone washed over him, spurring him into action. He circled his hips, folding his arms behind his head to show off his biceps and elongate his body; he knew exactly how tiny that made his waist look, how obscene it made the curves of his arse in contrast. 

Harry’s knees bent and he was fucking up into him, groaning, already sounding frenzied and desperate. 

Louis braced himself on Harry’s chest and bounced relentlessly, working every hot inch of him, matching his cries with his own, their heavy-lidded eyes locked on their own images as they drove each other to greater heights. 

He could feel the strain of exertion in his muscles, and it added to it; knowing that he’d be a little sore the next day. He collapsed on top of Harry, threading his fingers through his curls and kissing the side of his face sloppily. 

“Harry,” he said. It sounded like a plea. 

Harry gripped Louis arse, lengthening his thrusts, coaxing them into an intense, nasty rhythm. Louis pushed his hand between their bodies so he could fondle himself clumsily, needing only the slightest stimulation to send him over the edge. He bit down hard on Harry’s shoulder as he shuddered and came. 

He was still shivering through the aftershocks of his climax as Harry pulled him off of his dick and dumped him on the bed. Within seconds, he’d whipped off the condom and was jacking himself, shooting across Louis’ neck and collarbones. Louis opened his mouth instinctively when Harry loomed over him and fed him his spent cock, eagerly sucking it clean. It felt filthy and intimate, even more so when Harry lay beside him and pulled him into his arms to kiss him until their heartbeats calmed. 

Louis could’ve sent Harry to get him a flannel, but he needed a wee anyway, so he gingerly got up to use the toilet and wipe the spunk off his skin. Harry came with him, and retrieved the pillow he’d thrown on the floor as Louis claimed the one still on the bed. They curled up on their sides under the duvet, Harry cuddling Louis like a soft toy. 

“Whatever I was doing before you, it wasn’t sex,” Louis mumbled. 

Harry laughed sleepily. “Then what was it?” 

“No fucking clue.” Louis yawned. “All I know is we’re on some next level shit.” 

“Level infinity,” Harry agreed. 

“And we’re getting a mirror in our room,” Louis said. 

Harry said, “Monday.” 

* 

The first thing Harry did in the morning, after they showered, was put their clothes and shoes in the wash while Louis mopped up the foyer and texted Stan. Harry fried up sausage and eggs and Louis draped a blanket over the sofa. It didn’t feel right to put their bare arses on his mum’s furniture. They ate and watched telly as they waited for their clothes to dry (their shoes made an ungodly racket in the dryer, but Harry assured him it wouldn’t break), and then got dressed and walked to Stan’s house. 

Ryan volunteered to drive the off-licence to pick up more booze, so they went with him. Stan kept texting them with more tasks, and they didn’t finish until late afternoon. On the way back at the house, Harry asked to go by a McDonald’s drive-thru and ordered enough for the whole crowd. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Louis said, shocked by the cost. 

“No worries,” Harry shrugged, handing over his debit card. 

“I’m starting to suspect you’re secretly an eccentric millionaire who wears tatty jeans to be ironic,” he said, and Harry just laughed. 

"If you're moonlighting as a high-priced escort, you are morally obligated to tell me," Louis joked, but it wasn’t the first time he’d wondered how Harry never seemed to worry about money. 

Harry shook out and rearranged his curls, sounding a bit sheepish when he said, “Um, my parents help me out.” 

“Ooh, look who’s posh,” Louis teased, poking him in the side. Harry squawked and batted him away. “You hear that, Ryan? I landed me a trust fund baby!” 

“Dig that gold, Tommo,” Ryan encouraged, and they high-fived, ignoring Harry insisting that it wasn’t like that. 

“It’s just until I finish uni,” Harry said, as the clerk handed back his card and began passing them bags of food. 

“Too late to backtrack,” Louis told him. “I’ve already developed expensive taste. Next time I’m ordering mozzarella dippers and a milkshake.” 

Everyone was thrilled by the free food, thanking Harry profusely, and Louis couldn’t help feeling proud of him. He fully understood how weird it was that he derived such satisfaction out of seeing other people appreciate Harry’s wonderful qualities. He just enjoyed seeing people like Harry, because _he_ liked Harry and Harry deserved to be liked. 

Once everything was set up for the party, it was time to get dressed. Most of the guys went home; Louis claimed the master bathroom for him and Harry. They rinsed off in the shower, just to freshen up and get their hair wet so they could style it. Harry’s routine was annoyingly simple; he worked a bit of product through his curls and let them air dry. It took about two minutes tops. Louis’ hair took at least twenty minutes to do properly, but it wasn’t so bad if he had Harry to keep him company. Harry was probably the only person in the world who didn’t nag Louis about how long it took him to get ready, maybe because he seemed to find the process fascinating. 

He’d lean against the bathroom counter, watching Louis, anticipating what item he’d need next and giving it to him, like a nurse handing tools to a surgeon. Louis would ask for his opinions, even though Harry was never very helpful. 

“Does this look good?” was a useless question. Of course it looked good. 

“Is it better if I do this?” Both were good. 

“I’m having the worst hair day. I should just fucking shave my head!” No, no, never that. Promise to never. 

“Oh, come on, I wouldn’t really.” But still promise. 

“Fine, I promise. I’m done messing with it. What do you think?” That part was nice, Louis had to admit. Harry would smile and nod, bright with approval, and dot kisses all over his face and neck until Louis pushed him off. 

He’d packed several options for outfits, which he laid out on the bed and debated their merits before settling on a black denim jacket over a white t-shirt with a low-swooping collar and a pair of chinos that hugged him like a second skin. He wasn’t really paying attention to what Harry was putting on, but stopped short when he saw it was a white Henley and the black jeans he basically lived in. 

“Nope, no way,” Louis said immediately. “You cannot wear that.” 

“What?” Harry said, looking down at himself. He stuck out his knee, as if the ripped fabric was the issue. 

“We cannot wear matching outfits. That is _despicable_ ,” Louis said. 

Harry looked from Louis’ clothes and back to his own, and grinned. “We’re not matching. I’ve got a Henley and you’ve got a t-shirt. And our trousers are different colours.” 

“Mate, don’t do this to me,” Louis groaned. 

Harry bit his lip, still grinning, and said, “You look nice.” 

“Oh god.” Louis shook his head. “You’re the worst. I need a drink.” 

He shoved Harry as he left the room, but Harry slung an arm around his neck and went with him. 

* 

Stan had always had a lot of friends. By midnight, the house was rammed to the rafters with a mix of familiar and new faces. The music was blasting and the alcohol supply was going strong. It was Louis’ favourite point of a party, where everyone was on the wrong side of tipsy and making fools of themselves. Everywhere he looked there were people dancing, yelling, snogging, falling, and laughing. 

“Footie in the back garden!” He heard Geoff shouting. “Tommo, you in?” 

“I’m in!” he shouted back. He stopped by Harry, whom to no surprise was charming a group of girls, to see if he wanted to join. 

Harry’s arm went around his waist as soon as he came near, and he looked disappointed when Louis said, “Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Just wanted to check if Harold wants to play footie?” 

“Not really,” Harry said. “I’ll watch, though.” 

“Nah, finish your conversation,” Louis said. 

Harry frowned slightly. “Come find me when you’re done.” 

“Will do,” Louis said. Harry leaned in to kiss him and Louis ducked to avoid it, glancing at the giggling girls. He pulled away from Harry and hurried off, embarrassed. 

As he stepped outside, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text from Harry. 

_sorry I know u hate PDA .x_

Louis smiled and texted back 

_at least take me to a dark corner like a gentleman! x_

He laughed when Harry replied 

_AAAAH!!! sorry!! I’ll do it when u finish ur game!! x_

He sent back 

_ur a geek x_

and put his phone in his jacket pocket before stripping it and his shirt off and leaving them on a patio chair so they wouldn’t get sweaty. 

The game was a farce; everyone was far too drunk to be any good or follow rules, but it was fun to muck around with the ball while drinking. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he was covered in sweat and he could tell his hair was a wild mess by the time Harry appeared. 

He dribbled the ball over to him, panting for breath, and stole his beer. 

“Hey!” Harry yelled after him as he ran away. 

He showed off some fancy footwork, making a show of steadily drinking as he did it. He peeked over at Harry, making sure he was watching as he juggled the ball off of his knees and executed a sloppy crossover. Harry cheered for him and Louis laughed, nearly choking. He let Geoff steal the ball and jogged up to Harry, returning his drink. 

“I’m furious at you,” Harry informed him, wiping his hand over Louis’ chin and down his chest, where he'd spilled a little. 

“Why’s that?” Louis said, smoothing his fringe to the side. 

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna play shirtless,” Harry said, pinching a bare nipple. 

Louis yelped and pinched one of Harry’s extra nipples, faintly visible through his shirt. “I didn’t know. Where’d your fan club go?” 

“Who?” Harry said innocently, and maybe he really didn’t realise how easily he wrapped women around his little finger, but Louis doubted it. He’d never met someone as inveterately charming as Harry. 

Louis rolled his eyes and retrieved his clothes from the porch chair. “I’m gonna go towel off.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Harry volunteered, and Louis slanted a look at him. 

“I wonder why,” he said drolly. 

“So you don’t get lonely,” Harry claimed, cheeks dimpling sweetly. 

“Sure,” Louis scoffed, as Harry hooked a finger in one of Louis’ belt loops. 

Toweling off in the master bathroom turned into snogging in the master bathroom until some drunk girl started pounding on the door. They made her wait another five minutes while they laughed into each other’s mouths, before they finally emerged – Louis still topless – and stumbled back to the party like a pair of motherfucking _gents._

* 

Come half-three in the morning, Louis was dancing with Stan and some other mates, shouting inaccurate lyrics to every song that played and wearing giant novelty sunglasses. The plastic cup in his hand was empty and he could really go for some crisps, so he threw off the glasses and went into the kitchen hoping there was still food left. He found a half-full packet of Cheetos and hopped up to sit on the worktop and eat them, nodding at Jake when he walked into the room. 

“Hey,” Jake said, reaching for a crisp. “Mind?” 

“Be my guest,” Louis said, tilting the packet toward him. “So how you been, mate? Feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages.” 

“That’s because we haven’t,” Jake said. “A lot’s changed since I last saw you. For me, at least.” 

“Yeah?” Louis said, wanting to let him say it himself. 

“I don’t think I was dating guys yet last time I saw you?” Jake said with a smile. 

Louis pretended to think about it. “Nah… probably would’ve remembered that.” 

“Last time I saw you, you had a new boyfriend,” Jake said. “But Stan told me you broke up with him a while back.” 

“Yeah, we broke up months ago,” Louis said. “I really haven’t seen you in forever!” 

“Too long,” Jake agreed. “You know, I might be moving to London.” 

“Really?” Louis said, crunching on a crisp. 

“Depends if I can find a roommate. Stan says your place is pretty crowded. Any chance you’d want to move?” Jake said. 

Louis shook his head, scrunching his nose at the idea. “No need, really. I’m over at Harry’s all the time anyway.” 

“Right, Harry,” Jake said. “He’s cool. He’s certainly got the magic touch with the ladies.” 

“You don’t know the half of it, mate,” Louis said fondly. 

“Oh, I bet,” Jake said. “I saw him flirting with Ryan’s cousin. She looked like her knickers were about to melt off.” 

“Sounds about right,” Louis snickered, cramming a handful of crisps in his mouth. As someone who could be a massive flirt when he was in a certain mood, he was in no position to judge. He mostly found it funny and endearing; he was ninety-nine percent sure that Harry was the most endearing human on the planet. 

“Stan said that—” Jake started. 

“Want these?” Louis interrupted, offering him the Cheetos. Jake shook his head, so Louis tossed them on the worktop and hopped off, going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“So, Stan said—” Jake tried again. 

“Stan said, Stan said.” Louis tilted his head mockingly. “Not sure I like all this gossiping behind my back.” 

“It wasn’t gossiping,” Jake said. “I just asked him a few things because, you know, I was curious about your situation.” 

“My situation,” Louis repeated slowly, getting a beer from the fridge. He rested against the wall as he opened it and took a long draw. 

“I always thought you and I kind of had a connection,” Jake said, stepping towards him. 

Louis huffed a laugh. “How so?” 

“When we were in school—” Jake said. 

“I mean, yeah, you’re fit,” Louis cut in. “You’ve always been fit, but a _connection_? Really?” 

“Well, if you’re gonna be an arse about it…” Jake said. 

Louis tamed his smile, knowing he was being unfair and not very kind. “Sorry, mate. You’re not wrong. I would’ve loved to have a go back in the day.” 

Jake took another step forward. “And what about now?” 

Louis opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He sipped his beer, not knowing how to answer. The easy response was that he and Harry had something going on, however undefined it might be, and that now – tonight— wasn’t an option. For some reason, the words pressing against the back of Louis’ lips were stronger than that. They weren’t _not now_ , they were _not ever_. But why? Jake was fit and a nice guy; why should he want to so definitively reject him? 

If words sometimes failed Louis, actions were always there to get him out of a sticky situation. In that vein, he shook his beer at Jake, dousing his shirt, and ran out of the kitchen cackling madly. He heard Jake shout and chase after him, and raced through the living room towards the backdoor. Dodging people slowed him down, and Jake managed to seize his arm shortly after he made it into the garden. He splashed his beer at Jake again, making him retreat. 

“Gimme that!” Jake laughed, grabbing for the can, but Louis aimed it at him threateningly. 

“Nuh-uh-uh!” he warned, grinning. 

Jake lunged for it anyway, and Louis dumped half the beer on him mercilessly, making him yelp. He cursed good-naturedly as he stripped off his soaking shirt, and Louis leaned against the fence to gulp what was left of his beer, heedless of the drops falling onto his own bare chest. 

“You wanker,” Jake said, wiping himself off with his balled-up shirt. 

“Here,” Louis said, holding out his mostly-empty beer as a peace offering. 

“Hey,” and there was Harry, suddenly, at Louis’ side, eyes darting curiously between him and Jake. “What’s all the row about?” 

“No row.” Louis turned his grin on him. 

“Just Tommo being a knob,” Jake said, snapping his wet shirt at Louis. 

He jerked back to avoid it and Harry caught him ’round the waist, tugging his back to Harry’s chest and putting up his hand as if to ward off any further attacks. 

Jake faltered, all humour leaving his expression as he looked down at Harry’s grip on Louis. Something about that made Louis nestle back into Harry’s embrace, almost preening at how possessive it felt. He had the stupid urge to make it clear, after Jake’s comments about Harry, that Louis was enough to keep this gorgeous guy by his side no matter what competition was around. _He’d flirt with a pint glass if the light hit it right, but I’m the one who gets to take him home._

“Babe, Jake said you met Ryan’s cousin, Cheryl?” Louis said. 

Harry brightened. “Right, yeah! Did you know she just got engaged? I gave her some advice on floral arrangements. They can eat up your whole budget if you’re not careful." 

Louis smiled at Jake. “Harry here’s a brilliant florist.” 

Jake nodded awkwardly. “That’s cool. I’m gonna… go borrow a shirt from Stan.” 

“Nice catching up with you!” Louis said cheerfully as he walked away. 

“You need a shirt, too,” Harry said. “Want me to get yours for you?” 

“Just give me yours,” Louis joked, but when Harry really started to do it, he stopped him. “I’m kidding, idiot.” 

Harry crowded Louis against the fence, arms bracketing him in, and muttered, “Don’t talk to other guys.” 

Louis tipped his head back to meet his gaze. “What?” 

Harry edged closer. “Don’t even look at ’em.” 

Louis huffed lightly, amused. “Who?” 

“Everyone but me,” Harry said solemnly. 

Louis snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy.” 

Harry’s straight face broke into a grin. “When it comes to you, I’m bloody mental. We’ve established that by now.” 

Louis laughed and slid his arms around Harry’s neck. “Hate to break it to you, love, but I think you might be drunk.” 

Harry pushed off of the fence, taking Louis with him, and pulled him close by the hips. “What gave it away?” 

Louis rose up on his toes to whisper in his ear, “Wanna go back to my house?” 

“Yes please,” Harry said sweetly, digging his fingers into the flesh of Louis’ hips even sweeter. 

* 

Louis didn’t bother fetching his shirt and jacket; he could get them tomorrow. They walked slowly, hands entwined, pausing for Harry to admire the flowers in front of the house at the end of Stan’s street. 

“Those are nice,” Louis remarked, as Harry inspected some pink ones. 

“They’re sweat peas,” Harry said, plucking a blossom for Louis to sniff. “They mean, ‘Goodbye’.” 

Louis made a face and tossed it to the ground. “None of that!” 

Harry laughed and picked a small blue flower. “Here. A forget-me-not.” 

Louis took it from him. “That’s more like it.” 

He could feel Harry staring, and looked up to find him smiling softly. “They mean, ‘True love’.” 

Louis stomach swooped, and he nodded, looking away. He tugged on Harry’s hand. “Come on, don’t wreck these poor people’s garden.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Harry objected, sounding appalled, and Louis smiled and pulled him along. 

They were halfway down Louis’ street when he blurted, “Have you been with many people?” 

It was a dumb question. He didn’t know why the hell he asked it. He wanted to pluck the words out of the air and stomp them into the pavement. He tried to let go of Harry’s hand, but Harry clutched it tighter. 

“I forget,” Harry told him. “I forget everyone when I’m with you. You’re the only person in the world.” 

That was all well and good; a cute sentiment. Louis could let the subject drop, but now that he’d asked, his curiosity wouldn’t let him. He stopped walking, and Harry halted a few steps ahead of him, gradually releasing his hand. “Honestly.” 

Harry blinked, as if realising he was serious. “Are we talking full sex or…?” 

“Yeah, full sex,” Louis said. 

They began to walk again, even slower than before, hands in their pockets and eyes on their feet. 

“Three,” Harry said, just as Louis was starting to think he wouldn’t answer. “Not counting you. Plus Caroline, if she counts.” 

“Why wouldn’t she count?” Louis said, glancing at him. 

Harry squinted at him, as if he didn’t understand the question. “Because I’m gay?” 

“Are you?” Louis said, surprised. 

“Uh… is that not glaringly obvious?” Harry said, like he couldn’t believe Louis had to ask. 

“If you’re gay then why are you sleeping with her?” Louis asked. 

Harry’s whole face contorted in bewilderment. “I’m not!?” 

Louis felt just as flabbergasted as Harry looked. “Zayn told me—” 

“Zayn doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Harry said. “Okay, yeah, we’ve done it twice, like a million years ago, and we were fucking plastered both times.” 

Louis shook his head in confusion. “Then why would he—” 

“He probably believed a bunch of stupid shit he heard and never bothered to ask me if it’s true, just like you, apparently,” Harry said, his frustration evident. “My first summer in London, Caroline was single, and she can’t stand to sleep alone, so I was at her place a lot. We got really close, like, just as friends, but people thought it was a big deal because of her age and it got twisted into this really dirty thing.” 

“But you _did_ sleep together?” Louis said. 

“Okay, here’s the thing: there was this guy,” Harry said, gesturing broadly like he always did when he got worked up. “Looking back on it, he was a total dirtbag, but at the time his life seemed really glamourous to me. You know, booze, drugs, sex… very rock’n’roll. One night at a party, he pulls me into Caroline’s bedroom. He was fit and I hadn’t even thought he was into guys, so I buzzing.” 

“And she was in there, too?” Louis guessed. 

“She walked in on us. It was an accident; we were in her bed. She just… like, he wanted her to stay. I assumed it would be me-and-him and him-and-her, but halfway through blowing me, he says he wants to watch me fuck her. I can’t really explain it, but at the time, it didn’t feel like a big deal. We were wasted and it was exciting just for the sake of it being a threesome, if that makes sense?” Harry said. 

“Mate, if you knew half the things I’ve done,” Louis said, encouraging him to go on. 

The corner of Harry’s mouth tucked, not looking very comforted by that admission, but he continued. “A couple nights later, he wanted to do it again… and it’s not like it was _bad_ , but… I decided I’d rather not have sex for someone else’s entertainment. And that sex with women definitely wasn’t for me. Not that I ever really questioned that, but I’d rather have a wank, to be honest.” 

Louis chuckled wryly. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

Harry’s forehead puckered in irritation. “Thing is, like, London can be a pretty small town when it comes to stuff like that. All of a sudden I had this reputation. People started looking at me different. I mean, I was seventeen and maybe partying too hard— I wanted to try different things. Who doesn’t? I fooled around a lot, I guess.” 

“Harry, everyone fools around a lot at seventeen,” Louis said. 

Harry shrugged, biting his lip. “I like kissing. And I’m a flirt; I know that.” 

“I’m a flirt, too.” Louis touched his elbow, intending to console him. 

Harry’s arms flailed exasperatedly. “I know you are! It makes me crazy.” 

Louis captured his elbow firmly, looking at him expectantly. “What about when I’m flirting with you?” 

Harry pursed his lips, clearly fighting a smile. “Then it _really_ makes me crazy.” 

Louis let him go, pushing him away. “So the ultimate ladykiller isn’t even into women?” 

Harry shrugged again, this time nonchalantly. “It’s harmless, flirting with women. I mean, there’s no chance it’ll go anywhere; it’s just a bit of fun. I like making them smile.” 

Louis hummed in understanding. He did it too, at times. “So only three guys?” 

Harry frowned. “Don’t sound so surprised.” 

“Well, I am a bit,” Louis admitted. 

“I know,” Harry said dourly. “There’s something about me that makes everyone think I’m a slag. Even you.” 

That hit Louis right in the gut. “No, hey. I didn’t mean it like that, Harry. I promise.” 

“You thought I was sleeping with Caroline even though she has a boyfriend!” Harry said. 

“She has a boyfriend?” Louis said. 

Harry gaped at him incredulously. “You came to his welcome home mixer at her flat!” 

Louis had only been to one mixer at Caroline’s flat, and he couldn't recall if anyone had mentioned the occasion. “I didn’t know that’s what that was!” 

“Okay, well… he came to Laura’s birthday party with us. Him and his bandmate, the one whose girlfriend was crying at the club last Thursday,” Harry said. 

Louis shrugged helplessly. “Am I supposed to magically know who these people are? Why’s she sleeping in your bed if she has a boyfriend, anyway?” 

“I told you, she hates sleeping alone,” Harry said. “Any time he’s on the road, she’s crashing with me or Nick or whoever she can talk into coming over. It’s not like he cares, considering I’m thoroughly gay and he knows nothing would ever happen.” 

“Well, don’t say _ever_.” Louis couldn’t resist. 

“Ever again,” Harry said pointedly. “Even if I were into girls, I wouldn’t be with someone else while I’m sleeping with you.” 

Louis rolled his eyes, scowling. He knew he probably owed Harry an apology for misjudging him, but he didn’t think he was entirely at fault. 

“Unlike you,” Harry goaded. 

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” Louis said sharply. 

“Are you going to?” Harry asked. 

“Well, I’ve not got anything scheduled but I’ll keep you posted,” Louis said. He spun on his heel when he noticed they were passing his house, leading Harry through the gate and garden to find the key hidden by the backdoor. 

As he fitted the key into the lock, Harry said, “Did you tell Greg about us?” 

Louis sighed, pushing the door open and letting Harry go in first. He locked it behind them and toed out of his shoes, tossing the key onto the console table. “Yeah. I mean, he knows. I didn’t have to tell him. Thanks to Nick’s big mouth, most likely.” 

“Oh, so you didn’t _want_ him to know, but he found out anyway?” Harry said. 

“No, I don’t give a shit if he knows! I don’t want Greg!” Louis said. 

“Then what do you want?” Harry demanded. “Do you want me?” 

“Obviously! You barmy bastard!” Louis shouted. 

And just like that, Harry grinned like the sun coming out. “I want you, too. I want only you.” 

Louis floundered to catch up with the sudden change in atmosphere. “Well… good.” 

“Good,” Harry said decisively, scooping him into his arms and kissing his breath away. 

“Jesus, Curly,” Louis panted, when Harry set him down. 

“I think I might be a broom,” Harry said. 

“What?” Louis said, confused. 

“Because I just swept you off your feet,” Harry said, looking proud of himself. 

Louis buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and groaned. His head was spinning too fast to think of a proper insult, and the truth of it was that he wouldn’t change Harry’s awful corny jokes even if he could. He wouldn’t change a thing. 

* 

They were on the bed, tangled together but still in their pants, sharing deep kisses and languid caresses, neither making a move to take it further. They did this for hours sometimes; this and nothing more, just floating along in each other’s arms and… shit, Louis was thinking about Harry’s dumb broom joke again. _No._

He nipped at Harry’s chin. “I hope you know you’ve ruined sex for me with your stupid puns.” 

Harry nuzzled their faces, like a cat trying to scent-mark him. 

“This isn’t sex; this is kissing,” Harry murmured. “Kissing makes your day, but sex makes your whole week.” 

It took Louis a second, and it was a sure sign that spending so much time with Harry was warping his mind, because not only did he catch the innuendo, he actually laughed, albeit bitterly. 

“That was dreadful,” he scolded. “You’ll never get a date like that.” 

Harry tensed, peeking at Louis’ face cautiously, and when Louis grimaced to show how much he hated himself for what he’d just said, Harry beamed and tumbled onto his back, pulling Louis on top of him. Louis sat up, straddling Harry’s lap. 

“You’ve corrupted me, Styles,” he complained, poking his belly button. 

Harry looked pleased at the thought, and Louis scratched lightly at his chest, pantomiming a Wolverine attack. Harry let him have his fun for a while, before carefully catching his hands and bringing them down to press against his skin. He inhaled, and Louis watched the way his muscles flexed, spreading his fingers across them. 

Harry said, “I’ve been thinking, like. You said you usually top…?” 

That caught Louis’ attention. He looked at Harry interestedly. “Yeah?” 

Harry was chewing on his lip, and smiled shyly. “I think I’d like to try that sometime. I mean, I definitely would. If you do.” 

Louis was so distracted by his sweetly bashful expression that he almost missed what he said. When it registered, his eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding? Yeah, that’s— _hell_ yeah. Have you seen your arse?” 

Harry propped himself up on his elbows and Louis climbed off of him so that he could sit up. The sweep of his lashes across his faintly pink cheeks held Louis in thrall; he’d never seen anything more enchanting. “I always wanted to try it. I just didn’t want you to think I was bad in bed, in case I wasn’t any good.” 

Louis laughed softly, brushing the back of his fingers down Harry’s cheek. “Have you had complaints before?” 

“I’ve never done it.” Harry said, shrugging one shoulder. 

Louis pressed his thumb into his favourite dimple, feeling it deepen under his touch. “What? Never been curious?” 

Harry reached up to stroke Louis’ wrist and looked him in the eye. “I wanted it to be more than that.” 

A lump slowly rose in Louis’ throat and he withdrew, turning away. “Well… in that case, maybe— you should probably wait.” 

“Well, yeah, I didn’t mean _tonight_ ,” Harry said. “We can work up to it.” 

Louis scooted off the bed and stood. “No, I mean, you should wait till you’re with someone. Like, properly.” 

Harry stared at him, the air between them heavy with anticipation. They both knew what was going to happen next. Louis wanted to beg Harry not to say it, but there was a part of him that had been waiting to hear it. 

Calm and willful, Harry said, “I only want to be with you, properly. I want to be with you forever. I’m in love with you, Louis.” 

All he could think was, _You don’t even know what that means._

“I know we’re young, but in a few years, I’ll be a lawyer. I can buy us a home, and we can get married and have kids. You can teach drama or do the radio; whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy,” Harry said confidently. “I’ll take care of you.” 

Louis’ pulse was pounding in his ears. He shook his head, not even sure what he was denying. 

“I know you want those things,” Harry said, after a stretch of agonising silence. “Or you just don’t want them with me?” 

“Harry,” he said miserably. 

“I know you didn’t ask for it, and maybe you don’t want it, but I’ve given you my whole heart,” Harry said, Louis’ gut wrenching at the vulnerability in his voice. “Please don’t break my heart, Louis.” 

Louis glanced at him and then immediately away, unable to bear the sight of Harry crying, openly and silently. 

“Don’t do this, please,” Louis whispered. 

Harry was quiet. Finally, he said, “Don’t love you?” 

Louis shrugged, shaking his head, wishing he could rewind the conversation and steer it differently, and yet it felt inevitable. This moment had been a long time coming, but that didn’t make it any less painful. 

Harry nodded his head, inching his way off the bed. “Okay,” he said, sounding resigned. 

He pulled on his jeans and picked up his shirt but didn’t put it on. He stood still, staring hard at the floor, agitation coming off him in waves. 

“Harry,” Louis said weakly. 

Harry rounded on him, and Louis recoiled from the distress he wasn’t bothering to hide. “I don’t know what to do. I thought I could make you love me, if I wait long enough. If I earn it. But I can’t make you do something you don’t want to do. And you don’t want to be in love with me. Do you, Louis?” 

Louis didn’t know what the fuck he wanted. He wanted to lie down with Harry. He wanted to not feel like something precious was slipping through his fingers because he was too scared to try to hold on. 

As Harry realised he wasn’t going to get an answer, the expectation in his eyes dimmed to disappointed acceptance. He put on his shirt as he walked to the door. He hesitated in the threshold, and with his back to Louis, asked, “How can you believe in fate and not believe in you and me?” 

Louis’ blood ran cold. Harry left. 

_Fuck._

Alone in the room, Louis had the chance to breathe and try to process what had just happened. It really wasn’t the time to be discussing such things; they’d been drinking. It was late. They hadn’t slept enough the night before. Emotions were running high from the talk they’d had on the walk home and it was just— there were just a lot of reasons that it wasn’t the right time. Some other time, maybe tomorrow when they were sober and rested, or better yet, ten years from now when they weren’t two dumb kids wanting to throw around promises they weren’t old enough to keep. He dressed and made his way downstairs slowly, releasing a sigh of relief when he saw Harry lying on the sofa under a blanket. He approached hesitantly, stopping just inside the room. “You don’t have to sleep down here.” 

Harry pulled the blanket over his face. “Please just leave me alone.” 

He sounded like he was crying, and Louis wanted to comfort him but didn’t want to embarrass him. He wanted to say, _I don’t sleep well if you’re not next to me_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to be that selfish. 

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “You caught me off guard. You know, we’ve been drinking and everything; it’s not really the time to—” 

“Please go away,” Harry said. “Please, honestly.” 

“I just wanted to apologise,” Louis said wretchedly. “Harry, you know I love you.” 

As the seconds ticked by, he discovered that silence could cut far deeper than words. Humiliated and regretful, he went back upstairs. He lay awake for a long time, trying not to hope for Harry to join him, and fell asleep shortly before sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves comment and kudos, recs my fic, etc. I appreciate it. Would be lovely to hear your thoughts, if you'd like the share them x


	11. Chapter 11

It seemed like Louis had just managed to fall asleep and someone was already waking him up. He made a noise of protest and pulled the duvet over his head. 

“Lou, wake up. Just for a second.” 

If it was anyone’s voice but Harry’s, Louis would’ve ignored it. He kept his eyes closed, but grunted to let him know he was listening. 

“Does Stan have a spare key by his backdoor like you do?” 

“Is open,” Louis mumbled. 

“His backdoor's unlocked?” Harry clarified, and Louis grunted affirmatively. “Okay… well, I’m leaving.” 

Louis hesitated, debating going with Harry. He could sleep more at Stan’s, but he was already comfortable. “What time’s it?” 

“Seven.” 

“What the fuck?” Louis said, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. “Why are you up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry said shortly. “I’ll lock the door behind me and put the key in its hiding spot, okay?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Louis intoned, not really bothered either way. He just wanted Harry to stop talking so he could go back to sleep. Maybe in a few hours, when he finally made his way to Stan’s, there’d be some of Harry’s cooking waiting for him, and everyone else would be gone home. The three of them could spend a lazy Sunday together, play video games, and have a kick-around in the garden; a proper bonding session with his two favourite lads. It was such a pleasant thought that he drifted back to sleep with a smile on his lips. 

* 

When he awoke again, he glanced at his alarm clock and sighed when he saw it was just past noon. He wouldn’t have minded a couple more hours in bed, but he didn’t want to waste his time in Doncaster. As he dragged himself out of bed, unwelcome memories of the night before flooded over him. His stomach sank as he remembered Harry crying. Fuck. He knew it was something they needed to resolve; to what end, he wasn’t sure, but he hoped they could agree to make the best of the day with Stan and sort things out privately once they were back home. 

The trousers he’d slept in were horribly wrinkled, and he’d left his shirt and phone at Stan’s. He had some old clothes in his wardrobe, but he didn’t bother with them. He stopped by the bathroom to freshen up a bit, wrote a note for his mum and sisters, and walked to Stan’s. 

He entered through the backdoor, calling out, “Hey!” as he kicked off his shoes, but no one answered. He checked the kitchen, living room, and Stan’s room – all empty. The master bedroom was empty, too. He found his phone in the pocket of his jacket in the en suite. The battery was dead, so he plugged it in to charge while he showered. 

It was while getting clean clothes from his bag that he noticed Harry’s bag was missing. 

“The fuck…” he mumbled, searching for it, going so far as to check inside the wardrobe and under the bed. He dressed quickly and retrieved his phone to call Harry. He frowned as it rang, hanging up when it went to voicemail and sending a text instead. 

_where r u?_

He wandered through the house, searching for Harry’s bag to no avail, and plopped down on the living room sofa. He still hadn’t gotten a reply, so he sent another text. 

_hey wheres ur stuff? where’d u go?_

He called Stan, who answered after the third ring. “ _Hey man, you guys up?_ ” 

“Yeah, I’m over at your house,” Louis said. 

“ _Cool. I was dropping off some of the people who slept over… figured I’d chill at Geoff’s till yous two woke up. Have you eaten?_ ” 

It was obvious Stan thought Harry was with Louis, and he didn’t want to get into it over the phone, so he said, “Uh, no, not yet.” 

“ _My mum left us a lasagne on the bottom shelf of the fridge. There should be instructions for warming it up on it. Wanna do that?_ ” 

“Sure,” Louis said. 

“ _Okay, see you soon._ ” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, ending the call. He texted Harry a single question mark before leaving his phone on the coffee table while he put the lasagne in the oven. When he sat back down and saw that he still hadn’t gotten a response, he was properly annoyed. 

_I know I did this to u before but I at least answered ur texts_

He watched the screen, and when he saw the ellipses indicating that Harry was typing pop up, and then disappear, and then pop up again, Louis sent: 

_at least tell me where u are for fucks sake!!!_

He’d pretty much expected the answer he got, but he still exhaled sharply when he read it. 

_told u I was going home_

His first instinct was to call Harry and tell him off, because no, he hadn’t fucking told him. He remembered Harry waking him up to say he was leaving, but he’d thought he meant the _house_ , not the bloody _town_. Last night had been a disaster, but leaving accomplished nothing. Then again, neither did getting angry. 

_can I call u?_

He cursed when the ellipses stopped and started again, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. 

_zayn’s here_

He rolled his eyes and sat back heavily, resting his head on the back of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling blankly. He chewed his bottom lip, resisting the urge to call Harry anyway or text something snarky about Zayn’s presence. The only time he ever came by was if Liam was busy and he was bored. Louis was the one that spent all his time there, slept there every night, and stopped at the shop to pick up more milk if they were running low. It irked him to think that he had no proper claim on the place, because technically Zayn was Harry’s roommate. Then again, it was hardly Zayn’s fault that he was being used as an excuse. If Harry actually wanted to talk to Louis, he could go into the bedroom for privacy. 

Maybe it was just as well. It wasn’t really a conversation to have over the phone, he supposed. 

_can we talk when I get home? will u be there?_

Harry had a way of being simultaneously adorable and infuriating beyond belief, as illustrated perfectly by his next pair of texts. 

_yes._

_will u please tell everyone I said bye and it was nice to meet them?_

It took an inordinate amount of self-control to send back a simple ‘ _ok_ ’ instead of a rant. He tossed his phone onto the coffee table and grabbed a cushion, hugging it to his chest, and went back to staring at the ceiling. 

He didn’t stir when he heard the backdoor open, nor when Stan walked into the room and sat on the other end of the sofa. “Why are you sitting like that? You got a boner or something?” 

Louis snorted. “No, I’ve not got a boner. Thank you for asking.” 

Stan turned on the television and began flipping through the channels. “Where’s Harry?” 

“He left,” Louis said dully. 

“Where’d he go?” Stan asked. 

“Home. He said to tell you goodbye and that it was nice to meet you. He would’ve told you himself, but he fucked off back to London while we were all asleep,” Louis said. 

“Why?” Stan said. “What did you do?” 

Louis lifted his head to glare at him. “Oh, so I did something?” 

“Well, did you?” Stan said. 

Louis sighed, shaking his head and looking away. “Why is it that the worst time to talk about shit is when you’re drunk, but drinking makes people want to talk about shit?” 

“Alcohol: the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems,” Stan quoted. “You know who said that?” 

“Winston Churchill,” Louis guessed. 

“Homer Simpson,” Stan said. 

“Close enough.” He peeked at Stan, who was watching him, patient and curious. 

“You want a drink?” Stan asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. He suspected Stan was trying to give him a moment to choose his words, and he appreciated it. 

Stan returned with cans of Coke and handed one to Louis. “So what horrible thing did you do that ran Harry out of town?” 

Louis raised his middle finger and Stan laughed. 

Louis toyed opened his can and took a sip before saying, “He told me he’s in love with me.” 

“Okay?” said Stan. 

Louis shrugged. “No, but like, he wants for us to be… permanent.” 

Stan made a face. “What do you mean ‘permanent’? Did he _propose_ to you?” 

“No,” Louis said, flushing. He found himself wishing, ironically, that he was discussing this with Niall instead. It felt unfair to repeat Harry’s words to someone who didn’t know how sincere he was beneath all that charm. Who maybe didn’t understand how deeply their bond ran: to the bone, inside the bone. “I don’t know to explain it.” 

“He proposed to you and you’re not even dating,” Stan laughed. 

Louis threw the cushion on his lap at him. “Don’t make fun of him.” 

“I’m not,” Stan said. “I’m making fun of both of you. Last night, you let him tell a five minute story about the cinnamon croissants you bought at the train station.” 

“In fairness, mate, those croissants were amazing,” Louis said. 

“My point is, no one else would’ve made it through that story without you murdering them for being the most boring human alive,” Stan said. 

Normally, Louis would’ve given Harry plenty of shit for what was admittedly a rambling tale of train station pastries, but he hadn’t wanted to embarrass him in front of Louis’ friends. In any case, Harry’s charm made even the most inane story entertaining. “He’s not boring.” 

“No, he’s not,” Stan agreed. “He’s great. But you clearly love him. So what’s the problem?” 

“It’s not— yeah, but,” Louis floundered. He pushed his fringe to one side. “He thinks we’re, like… fate.” 

“Okay,” Stan said slowly. “And what do you think?” 

“I think… that I don’t want to think about it,” he said. 

“Lou, you’ve talked about that kind of shit since we were like thirteen. Finding your soulmate and all that,” Stan said. 

“Yeah, but I never thought about what happens after you do?” Louis said. “What happens if you find your soulmate and it doesn’t work out? If Harry and I break up— what then? I just never talk to him again?” 

“Why would you have to never talk to him again?” Stan said, making a face like Louis was being ridiculous. 

“What ex- of mine do I actually keep in touch with?” Louis said. 

“Okay, but you stay on good terms; it’s not like you hate each other. And you weren’t friends with any of them before you dated,” Stan pointed out. “Harry’s one of your best mates.” 

“It’s different. The thought of breaking up and having to see him with other people makes me want to…” Louis shook his head, his stomach turning at the idea. “I couldn’t do that.” 

“Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself, talking about breaking up before you even get together?” Stan said. 

“Harry is eighteen and he’s never been in a relationship. I’m twenty and a complete idiot,” Louis said. “What are the chances we could actually make it last?” 

“Fifty-fifty, I reckon. Like anything else in life,” Stan said. “You’ve always been the bravest person I know. When you came out when we were sixteen, you didn’t give a shit what anyone had to say about it… and then you moved to London for university completely on your own. I’ve always admired how when you want something, you just fucking go for it. You don’t let fear hold you back.” 

Louis was quiet, letting that soak in. Stan clapped him on the shoulder and Louis shoved him off. They exchanged small smiles. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get scared,” Louis told him. “And you can’t compare any of that to this. This is way bigger. This is Harry. I’ve never had something I was so scared to lose, before. And I’ve never been with someone where it was so _easy_. We _get_ each other, and even when I’m angry at him, all I want to do is forgive him. I don’t even care about who’s right or wrong. You know I hate to apologise—” 

“Oh, I know,” Stan cut in drolly. 

Louis huffed, grateful for the attempt to lighten the mood. “—but with him, I’ll apologise for anything, and I know he’ll forgive me anything. He knows exactly who I am and he wants me anyway, and that’s the most incredible feeling I’ve ever felt. But when it’s bad between us, it’s like my heart can’t rest until I make things right. And that’s just how it is _now_. If I had him, like really had him, and lost him… I can’t even imagine what that would do to me.” 

“You’d be a shell of a man,” Stan joked, but his smile looked more like a sympathetic wince. 

“I always expected finding true love would be wonderful and life-changing, and it is. I just didn’t realise it would also be completely terrifying,” Louis said. “I wish we’d met five years from now. Maybe then I’d feel more prepared?” 

“What would you have done to prepare yourself?” Stan asked. 

“I don’t know,” Louis admitted. “I mean, I’ve definitely had my fair share of fun and then some; I’m not worried about that. I’d take Harry over anyone – that’s not even a question. And luckily, Harry had a threesome with an old lady last summer—” 

“What?!” Stan said. 

“She’s not that old, I guess. Old enough to make me side-eye her for the rest of eternity for sleeping with a teenager, but you’d probably think she’s hot,” Louis said. “Point being, he’s tried shit out. In a weird way, with as flirty as he is with women, it kind of makes me feel better that’s tried sex with one and knows it’s not for him.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna let the granny threesome slide for now, but that topic _will_ be revisited at a later date,” Stan said. “I get why you wish you were five years older, because you’d be done with uni and settled into your career and at least that part of your life would be sorted.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said. “It’s a pretty huge responsibility, finding what could very well be the love of your life when you’re twenty years old.” 

“But you didn’t,” Stan reminded him. “You found him when you were six. And you lost him for a while, but you got him back. Or fate brought him back; however you want to look at it. Maybe he’s the love of your life or maybe he’s not; there’s only one way to find out. Are you really gonna let a little thing like soul-crushing fear stop you?” 

Louis’ eyebrows raised; that hadn’t even occurred to him. “Well, when you put it that way...” 

“Soul-crushing?” Stan said. 

“No, you knob. I think it might be nice to put the responsibility on fate,” Louis said. “That way, even if we’re young and stupid and fuck it all up, fate has to figure out how to fix it.” 

“But maybe you should do your part, too?” Stan suggested. 

“How?” he said. 

“Well, unless you wanna wait another fourteen years for fate to bring him back, you might wanna get your arse on a train and hunt down your boy,” Stan said. 

“You sure? It’s your birthday weekend ,” Louis said. 

“No offence, but I doubt we’d have fun if you stayed. Go fix things with Harry. I’ll go back to Geoff’s,” Stan said. 

“You have to come up to London soon; it’s been ages,” Louis said. “You have to come see the radio station and meet Greg and Laura and Pippa. If you come on a weekday, you could sit and watch the show.” 

“That’d be sick,” Stan said, pulling up the browser on his phone. “Now go grab your bag and I’ll see what time the next train leaves. Food should be ready soon. You want to eat first?” 

“Like I’d pass up your mom’s lasagne,” Louis said, hefting himself to his feet. 

“Uh, mate?” he said, and Stan looked up from his phone screen. “Thank you. I think I’d feel really lonely, sometimes, if I didn’t have you.” 

“Save the sweet talk for your boyfriend,” Stan said, shooing him off. Louis slapped the side of his head as he walked past him, and Stan punched him in the leg. “Dickhead!” 

“Fuck off,” Louis retorted, as he limped toward the master bedroom, grinning. 

* 

Louis got on the train full of courage and conviction, but having two hours to sit and think on the way to London left plenty of time for doubt to creep back in. He texted his mum, but she sounded like she was having such a nice holiday that he didn’t want to ruin it. It’s not like he really wanted advice; he knew what he needed to do and intended to do it. He just wanted to whine, honestly, and knew she’d indulge him. 

He distracted himself with his phone, texting friends he hadn’t caught up with in a while and browsing the internet. He signed up for a Twitter account and downloaded the app. It proved to be a great way to waste time. He spent the rest of the train ride looking up various celebrities and athletes, reading through their tweets, and deciding who to follow. When he had only a few minutes left till he reached King’s Cross, he searched for the relevant Radio One twitters: Greg, Pippa, Laura, and the official show account. He sent a text to Greg letting him know he’d signed up and his username. A few minutes later, Greg followed him from the show’s official account and his personal one, and sent out tweets from both letting the fans know that “resident hottie, Intern Louis” was now on Twitter and that everyone should go follow him for nudes and knock-knock jokes. 

It took Louis a couple minutes to devise his first tweet due to the character limit. 

**The Tommo @Louis_Tomlinson:**

**hi guys! why can’t the flower ride his bike? cos the petals fell off! (not a knock knock & I stole it off Harry but best I can do at the mo)**

The train was noticeably slowing down, and the people around him were gathering their belongings in preparation of alighting, so Louis did the same. 

* 

His mind went mercifully blank as he went through the motions of getting home, functioning on auto-pilot. He found himself nipping into a grocer’s to buy a bottle of olive oil. As he stowed it in his bag, he realised he had no fucking clue why he’d done it. Harry had mentioned they – _he_ — was running low, but Louis didn’t cook; he had no use for the name brand olive oil that Harry preferred. So, he was going to show up at Harry’s flat with this shit and say what exactly? ‘Sorry I’m such a clueless fuck-up and have no idea how to handle how you make me feel. Maybe a nice homemade vinaigrette will cheer you up.’? 

If Harry was even there. He’d said he would be, but history said otherwise. He got out his phone and rang Niall. 

“ _Yo, Tommo! I’m about to walk into work. What’s up?_ ” 

“Yeah, I figured, sorry,” Louis said. “Just wanted to see if Harry was home when you left?” 

“ _Oh, I dunno. I slept at me girl’s flat._ ” 

“Your girl, huh? That official then?” Louis asked. That was a bit of good news, at least. 

“ _Yeah, she’s a good ’un. What’s up, you can’t get ahold of him? Did you try Liam?_ ” 

“Isn’t he at work?” Louis asked. 

“ _No, he switched shifts so he could help them. I figured you were with 'em._ ” 

“With who?” he said. 

“ _Harry and Zayn._ ” 

“No, Harry came back early,” Louis said, rushing on before Niall could ask why. “What’s he helping them with?” 

“ _Packing._ ” 

“Packing what? Their flat?!” Louis picked up his pace as he crossed the car park. 

“ _No idea. I was about to ask you. He called right as I was getting in the shower; I talked to him for like two seconds._ ” 

“Well, what exactly did he say?” Louis said. 

“ _He wanted to know if I’d be home tonight; I said yeah. I asked how his day was going; he said he was at Harry’s helping them pack. It didn’t sound that serious. I’m sure it’s nothing._ ” 

“How can packing up their flat be nothing? Look, I gotta go.” Louis hung up on him and ran the rest of the way into the building and up the stairs, his bag thumping uncomfortable against his back. He came to an abrupt halt in the corridor when he saw the doors to his and Harry’s flat were ajar. He could hear voices: Liam loud and bossy the way he got during projects, a muted response from Zayn. 

He was approaching slowly, unsure which flat the voices were coming from, when the door to Harry’s flat swung open and Harry emerged with an overflowing cardboard box in his arms. He froze when he saw Louis. 

Louis stared in disbelief. The fact that he was doing this without even discussing it with Louis, without even _trying_ to work things out, was preposterous. That’s when he noticed the sleeve of a jumper hanging out of the top of the box. _Louis’_ jumper. Comprehension hit him like a ton of bricks. Harry wasn’t moving out; Harry was moving _Louis_ out. 

“Are you fucking serious? I bought you olive oil, you dick!” 

He pulled his bag off his shoulder and let it drop to the floor. Then he strode toward Harry, who backed up against the door, pushing it open as he stumbled back. 

“Harry, can you— hey, Louis’s back!” Zayn called cheerfully from inside Liam’s bedroom, but Louis ignored him in favour of shoving the box out of Harry’s arms. 

“Woah, what the fuck! Louis, man, are you crazy?” Zayn said, running over. “Don’t break my shit!” 

That got his attention. He looked down at the box. The jumper was his, yeah, but the rest was not. At least, he didn’t remember buying a bunch of sketch pads or high-top trainers. 

“That’s, uh…” Louis said, staring hard at the floor so he wouldn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes. “That’s my jumper.” 

“Okay, well, chill. You can have it.” Zayn scowled at him, grabbing it out of the box and throwing it at him. “It was an accident.” 

Louis didn’t believe that for a moment. Zayn was not to be trusted when it came to clothes. He’d have to go through the box thoroughly later, but right now he really didn’t give a shit. Harry was still up against the door, eyes wide as saucers and locked on Louis. 

“Hey…” Louis said awkwardly. From the way Zayn was looking at them, it was clear that Harry hadn’t mentioned their fight. “Can we go to yours?” 

“I’ve still got stuff over there,” Zayn said. 

“Get it later,” Harry said, not taking his eyes off Louis. 

“You’re the one who wanted—” Zayn protested, but a sharp look from Harry cut him off. “Fine, whatever. I’m done for the day, then.” 

“Fine,” Harry said. 

Zayn rolled his eyes and carried the box to Liam’s room. 

Harry and Louis eyed each other warily as the silence stretched. 

“Should we…?” Louis said. 

Harry nodded. He picked up Louis’ bag, heedlessly abandoned in the corridor, on the way to his flat. Louis shut the doors behind them. He quickly scanned Harry's living room. Nothing was out of place, although he could see through the open door that the bedroom was in disarray. 

“Thanks,” Louis said, as Harry set his bag on the coffee table. “Niall told me you were packing… For a minute, I thought you were, like, moving out.” 

“Why would I do that? Especially without telling you,” Harry said. 

“I don’t know,” Louis muttered. “Maybe because, like, last night…” 

“Last night sucked,” Harry said. “But how would I have even had time to break my lease and find a new place in a matter of hours?” 

“Yeah, that doesn’t make much sense,” Louis admitted. “I panicked. This thought process happened in a matter of minutes.” 

Harry looked both rueful and amused, and it rankled Louis. “Not that I would put it past you to leave. Any time we have a fight, you run away.” 

“It was more than a fight,” Harry said. 

“Well, it wasn’t really a discussion we should’ve been having drunk to begin with,” Louis said. 

“I left because I didn’t want to ruin your time with Stan,” Harry said. 

Louis scoffed. “It was already ruined. I mean, it’s not like I could enjoy myself with all that on my mind.” 

The corners of Harry’s lips curved down into a stubborn little frown. “Alright, well, I would’ve felt really awkward staying after everything I said. Considering you completely rejected me.” 

“I didn’t completely reject you,” Louis denied. “You put me on the spot. And then you took off without a word. And don’t say you told me you were leaving, because I thought you meant you were going to Stan’s, and then I wake up and you’re just fucking gone and not answering your phone. You should’ve at least left a note or something. You can’t just disappear on me. That’s not fair.” 

Harry’s frown deepened, but he said, “Okay.” 

“And I know I’ve been unfair to you. A lot,” Louis said. “I know that. I’m gonna try to be better, too. All right?” 

Harry’s expression cleared at that, and he nodded. 

It wasn’t enough. Louis wanted to see him smile. “So, what’d Zayn do to make you finally kick him out?” 

Harry’s dimple flashed briefly, and Louis relished the small victory. “I didn’t. I asked if he’d mind moving his stuff this weekend. I was hoping he’d do it while we were gone, but of course he left it till the last minute.” 

“So is he finally officially moving in with Liam?” Louis said. 

“Well, yeah. I think they wanted to talk to you and Niall tonight. Just to make sure it’s okay,” Harry said. 

Louis shrugged. “He’s been living there for months. If he wants to pitch in with rent, cool. Otherwise, it won’t really change anything.” 

“Except we’ll be less crowded over here,” Harry said. “You won’t have to feel bad about bringing stuff over anymore.” 

Zayn taking up storage space was something Louis had complained about in passing, but he hadn’t expected Harry to actually do anything about it. It was like how he complained about the birds that sang too loud in the mornings, or the hot water running out while he’s in the shower. 

“So we basically break up last night, and you spend the day making more room for me in your flat?” Louis said incredulously. 

“We didn’t break up!” Harry objected. “We’re not going out yet.” 

Louis laughed. “You’re a hell of an optimist.” 

“I’m a fool for love,” Harry said, smiling like he was proud of it. 

“You’re not a fool,” Louis said. 

“I am,” Harry said shamelessly. “I’ve made a fool of myself plenty of times already and I’ll do it plenty times more. I have no pride when it comes to you, because it’s not worth it… on the off-chance that someday you’ll love me back.” 

Harry’s gaze was so guileless and trusting that Louis had to look away. How could he still be so trusting after how careless Louis had been with him? 

Louis didn’t doubt that he was in love with Harry. Of course he was; who wouldn’t fall in love with Harry? 

He quite liked telling people he loved them, usually. No matter how much or little he might mean it at the time; sometimes when he didn’t mean it at all, was more in love with how young and alive he felt, in love with a moment, than he was with the person in front of him. Now he meant it so much that he couldn’t bear to speak the words. _I’m in love with you. I’m so perfectly in love with you that I can hardly stand it, because I’m so fucking scared that perfect love can’t last._

The greatest fear was the fear of the unknown, and that’s exactly what this was. Louis had never known love like this; love that forced him to confront the concept of forever. It was more than just a pretty word. Forever was a _fucking long time_. He knew it wouldn’t work unless he gave himself to it completely, but what if he did and it still wasn’t enough? What would be left of him? 

True love was terrifying, but that’s what this was, and maybe it wouldn’t be so scary if he had Harry along for the ride. Refusing to face the situation and making Harry go through it alone wasn’t fair, and he’d meant it when he said he wanted to be fairer to Harry. 

So, he took a deep breath, released it, and looked up at Harry, who was still watching him. “You’re right.” 

“About what?” Harry said. 

“I don’t want to be in love with you,” Louis said, rushing to add as Harry’s face began to fall, “but my heart doesn’t seem to care.” 

Harry’s face brightened hopefully, and Louis' heart was on the verge of bursting. It was painful and lovely and worth it. 

“I’m in love with you,” Louis said. “Like, madly, I guess. Yeah, pretty much… madly, deeply, against all better judgment. No, actually, that’s not fair. You’re incredible, Harry. You’re perfect, really, and when I’m with you it _feels_ perfect. It’s bloody intimidating. I’ve never really cared when my relationships ended, but I can’t even imagine what it would be like to break up with you. I wouldn’t just lose my boyfriend; I’d lose my best friend, too.” 

“You’re not going to lose me,” Harry said, grinning, half-laughing and confident. He came closer to hold Louis by the shoulders, and told him, “I’ll never love anyone else the way that I love you.” 

Louis grinned back helplessly, but shook his head. “It’s just easy for us to feel that way when we’re so young.” 

“Well, lucky for us, because it’s an amazing feeling,” Harry said. “You can go find someone older, with relationship experience and whatever else you have it in your head is important, but no one could want you more than I do. Yeah, we’re young, but your grandparents married when they were our age, and they’re still so happy. It _can_ happen; it _does_. Don’t let doubt ruin this for us. We should be enjoying this; this is our beginning. Stop worrying about the ending, because we’re not going to have one.” 

“I don’t even know how to be in love like this,” Louis said. 

Harry’s hands dropped down to Louis’ waist. “Then we’re a perfect match, because I’ve no clue, either. We can figure it out together.” 

Louis pinched Harry’s cheeks before gripping his curls. “I can’t decide if you’re smarter or stupider than me. Maybe just braver.” 

“No, I don’t think it’s that. I think I just… trust us,” Harry said. “We won’t let go.” 

Louis decided, in the moment, to trust that wherever this path led them, it was one they were meant to take. “Whether or not it lasts, it’s worth the risk.” 

“It’ll last,” Harry said firmly. “Let’s just love each other. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it’s impossible. Let’s just love each other and not stop.” 

Harry had a way of making the most foolhardy, idealistic words sound feasible. It was one of a million reasons why Louis loved him – would never stop loving him. 

“Okay,” he agreed, laughing breathlessly. “Let’s be in love forever.” 

The kiss they shared was every love song in the world. 

* 

The first time they’d had sex had opened a floodgate of physical affection from Harry, and declaring their love did the same for romance. Louis had come home on Monday evening to a candlelit dinner. With someone else, Louis might’ve mocked the dimmed lights and the flowers on the table. With Harry, he let himself indulge in every cliché, listening attentively as Harry told him the name and meaning of each flower. He wouldn’t be able to remember them later, but he would never forget how gorgeous Harry looked in the candlelight. 

The week passed in a haze of sex and sweetness. Knowing he would be the first guy to be inside of Harry was thrilling, and they were enjoying drawing it out, savouring every step; in no rush for the finish line. Sometimes Harry was pliable, letting Louis toy with him until he fell apart in his hands. Other times he was demanding, goading Louis into manhandling him. He liked to be touched and licked open, only to topple Louis and do the same to him. His obsession with Louis’ arse showed no sign of fading, and Louis was just fine with that. 

Louis knew his arse was magnificent; one of his best features, but his own taste had always run more towards Harry’s body type. He loved how long and lean he was; his endless legs and little bum. The fact that he was the only person who knew how tight and delicious Harry was had Louis walking around feeling like the smuggest bastard in Britain. 

On Friday, after a night out drinking with Louis’ coworkers to celebrate his last day of work at Cuppa, they’d tumbled naked into bed, flushed and giddy. His coworkers’ questions about his new job had reminded him of his Twitter account, and he’d been shocked to find that he had several thousand followers. Many of them were asking whom was the ‘Harry’ he’d mentioned in his first and only tweet. 

Louis was a little drunk and a lot in love, and that’s the only excuse he had for tweeting a photo of a beaming Harry, dark curls falling across the white pillow case, as Louis planted a sloppy kiss on his dimpled cheek. 

**The Tommo @Louis_Tomlinson:**

**HARRY MY BOFYRIENDDDDDD pic.twitter.com/P94Ie8Qz49**

He showed it to Harry, who looked well chuffed, but took his phone away and set it on the bedside table. “No phones in bed.” 

“Yeah?” Louis said, climbing atop and straddling him. “But what if I want to add to my sex tape collection?” 

Harry’s face went blank and Louis tweaked his nipple. “Jokes.” 

“You swear?” Harry said. 

Louis laughed. “Yeah. Don’t look so upset. I’ve saved my sex tape virginity for you.” 

Harry rested his hands on Louis’ thighs. “How many people have you been with?” 

“Babe, I can’t even count that high.” Louis rolled his eyes at Harry’s pout. “Zero. I left the monastery the day before I met you.” 

“Tell me,” Harry insisted. 

Louis tilted his head to the side. “Do you really want to know?” 

Harry eyes skimmed down Louis’ chest, and he rubbed Louis’ thighs idly. Eventually, he said, “No.” 

“You sure?” Louis checked. 

Harry nodded. “It’s bad enough knowing you had four boyfriends before me.” 

“And a girlfriend,” Louis said. 

“Thanks.” Harry glowered. 

Louis snickered. “Wipe the murder off your face, you maniac. If it makes you feel better, you’re the first arse I’ve ever eaten out.” 

Harry let loose a barking cackle. “What poetry. I’m swooning.” 

They tussled a bit, and then Louis fell onto Harry's chest, petting his curls back from his face and murmuring in his ear, because Harry liked pretty words and he deserved them. “I’ve never felt what I feel for you before. Not even close. Love’s not even the word.” 

Harry’s dimple appeared and Louis kissed it as Harry asked, “Then what is?” 

“Everything,” Louis said. The simple truth of it was beautiful and shook him to the very core. He braced himself on his open palms so he could look Harry in the eye. “I feel everything for you.” 

“I’m swooning,” Harry whispered, teasing and serious, sliding his hands up Louis’ back as Louis leaned down to kiss him. 

* 

No longer working weekends had sounded great, until Saturday morning rolled round and Harry was gone to Teasdale’s and Louis had nothing to do. Well, technically, he had coursework and friends and hobbies, but he was fully caught in the throes of new love and being away from Harry for any length of time was torturous. 

The weather was nice, so he took his skateboard and met up with some friends he hadn’t seen in a while. They didn’t question his suggestion to go to Cantelowes skatepark in Camden. He figured he could surprise Harry at the end of his shift and ride the bus home together. 

He passed the time perfecting his kickflip. He was out of practice, so he waited until he was in the groove before getting a friend to film it and sending it to Harry. Louis was a flagrant show-off when it came to impressing Harry, but he didn’t care. He knew Harry enjoyed it as much as he did. The rash of texts he got in response, gushing over how fit and awesome he was, was proof of that. 

He nearly died laughing when Harry sent him a photo of his bum, jeans pulled down halfway and a daisy tucked into his crack. 

_I want to give you my flower .x_

Louis immediately set the photo as his phone wallpaper and replied. 

_first of all u r a ridiculous human being, second of all, we r not monica and chandler_

He turned away from his friends to hide the big, stupid smile he couldn’t contain when Harry sent back: 

_ur my lobster .x_

“Yo, Louis, let’s go to the bowl?” one of his friends called. 

“Yeah, cool,” he said, putting his phone away, intent on making the most of the park and not spending the whole time on his phone. 

When it buzzed a few minutes later, it was back in his hand. 

_4 hrs until I see Louis again :) .x_

It was actually three hours, because they’d be riding the bus home together, but Louis didn’t tell him that. 

_stop stalking me x_

He laughed at Harry’s quick reaction. 

_nooooooooo .x_

He got a solid half-hour of skating in, and then another text. 

_3.5 hrs until I see Louis again :) .x_

He moved a few feet away from the coping of the bowl and sat on his skateboard. 

_hey u accidentally sent me another creepy text abt how ur counting down the hrs till u see me. unless u meant a different louis? x_

Harry, the little bugger, didn’t miss a beat. 

_louis walsh .x_

Another two and a half hours until Harry’s shift was over. Then Louis could buy him a nice takeaway and cuddle him on the sofa, let Harry pick what to watch on Netflix, and suck his dick. 

_ahhh ok then I’ll just see u tmw since u made other plans x_

His phone buzzed within seconds of hitting send. 

_noooooooooo .xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

He laughed quietly, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. 

_dont send me so many xs u creep x_

He laughed loudly, delighted and so full of fondness that he couldn’t contain it, when he read the reply. 

_xxxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!_

His friends kept glancing at him, and he knew he must have a dopey look on his face. Fuck it, really. Who was he kidding? He sent one more text before grabbing his board and standing up. 

_3.5 hrs until I see Harry again :P x_

He didn’t bother making up an excuse to his friends, simply telling them he was going to meet up with his boyfriend and promising they’d hang out again soon. He was waiting for the bus when he got another text. 

_3 hrs 20 min till Louis :) .xxx_

* 

The look on Harry’s face when Louis showed up at the shop was priceless. He was so enchanted by it that he banged his elbow on the doorframe walking in. He was still a bit sweaty from skating, but Harry didn’t seem at all put off by it, squeezing him close and burying his face in Louis’ neck to inhale the scent of him. 

“Don’t do that. I’m stinky,” Louis said. 

“You smell so fucking good,” Harry said, and bit his neck. 

“Control yourself, sir. This is a place of _business_ ,” Louis informed him, pushing him away and then tugging him close for a frankly obscene kiss. 

Harry’s cheeks were pink when Louis released him. “Did it hurt?” 

Louis raised his eyebrows. “When I fell from heaven?” 

“When you hit your arm on the door…” Harry said. 

“Oh,” Louis said, making a face. “Not really.” 

“I know it didn’t hurt when you fell from heaven, because I was there to catch you,” Harry said, with a shit-eating grin. 

Louis rolled his eyes and sighed, playing exasperated. “There it is.” 

Harry slung his arm around Louis shoulders and ushered him into the backroom, fetching him a bottle of water and some crisps. Louis sat at the long table to eat and watch Harry put together an intricate bouquet. 

“Those looks like Marge Simpson’s hair,” Louis said, about some weird-looking blue flowers. 

“They’re blue hyacinths. They mean, ‘Constancy’,” Harry told him. “You don’t like ’em?” 

Louis shrugged. “Marge is cool.” 

“I have to find out what you like,” Harry said. “When I propose to you someday—” 

“Who says I won’t be the one to propose to you?” Louis interrupted. 

Harry blinked, looking blown away, as if the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. “Yeah?” he said softly. 

Louis threw a crisp at him. It only made it about a foot before landing on the table. “If you play your cards right.” 

Harry fiddled with the bouquet as Louis finished his crisps. He got up to throw the packet away. “Want a tea?” 

“Yes, please,” Harry said. 

He brewed two perfect cups, delivered one to Harry in exchange for a kiss, and sat back in his chair to enjoy his own. 

Harry took a sip and set his mug down. Then he said, and it was clear he’d been debating it, “I want to propose to you… but I want you to propose to me, too.” 

Louis raised his eyebrows at him over the rim of his mug. “Guess it’ll be first come, first serve.” 

Harry smiled down at the flower stem he was cutting. “I like to think about it. Our future.” 

The bell above the door chimed, and Harry left to attend to a customer. When he came back, Louis said, “Marry me. In ten years.” 

“Hey! That’s cheating,” Harry said. 

“Marry me someday,” Louis amended. 

“Yeah. I will,” Harry said. 

“You sound confident,” Louis said. 

“It’s the one thing I can count on. That I’ll end up with you,” Harry said, going back to cutting flower stems. 

“I get a say in this, too, you know,” Louis said. Harry just smiled and shrugged. “You don’t think so?” 

“I would just stalk you, if you ever left me,” Harry said, with all the serenity of a madman. “I would sleep on your windowsill, so every morning when you woke up, I’d be there… staring in at you like a creeper—” 

“You’re already a creeper,” Louis said. 

“—with tears streaming down my face,” Harry continued, unfazed. “I’d just cry until you felt sorry for me and took me back.” 

“You want me to marry you out of pity?” Louis said. 

“Well, that wouldn’t be my first choice,” Harry said. “But I’d rather marry you because you pity me than marry someone else because they love me. As long as it’s you, I don’t care.” 

“But what if it was the richest man in the world and he didn’t want a pre-nup?” Louis said. 

“No,” Harry said crossly, as if the nonsense had gone too far and he was truly vexed by the notion. 

Which, of course, only encouraged Louis. “What if it was the hottest guy in the world?” 

“That’s you,” Harry said grumpily. 

“You should marry the rich guy and then divorce him and we’ll run off with half his money,” Louis said. 

Harry cracked a smile at that. “But what if he figures it out and hires a hitman to hunt us down?” 

“We’ll be on the lam for the rest of our lives! I’ll have to change my name to Julio,” Louis said, as the bell above the door chimed again. 

“That’s not fair to our kids,” Harry said, as he went to see who’d come in. 

“True. Damn. Otherwise, it was a flawless plan,” Louis called after him. 

His phone buzzed and he took it out of his pocket to find a text from Greg. He had to read it a few times to understand what it meant; his eyes widening when it finally clicked. He was still on his phone when Harry came back a few minutes later. 

He must’ve had a weird expression on his face, because Harry said, “What’s wrong?” 

“Dude,” Louis said. “We’re famous.” 

“What?” Harry said, coming over to look at the screen. 

“Look how many followers I have,” Louis said, holding his phone up for him to see. “Almost thirty thousand!” 

“What the hell? Didn’t you have like seven thousand last night?” Harry said. 

“Yeah, well, your little friend Nick decided to retweet that photo of us I posted last night, and he has 1.5 million followers. People are going nuts,” Louis said. 

“What are they saying?” Harry asked. 

“That we’re a hot couple and stuff,” Louis said, clicking on his mentions. 

“Let me see,” Harry said, sounding pleased. 

They went through the mentions together for a while, then Harry got back to work and Louis read him the best ones aloud. He picked the funny ones and the sweet ones, and threw in the occasional guy hitting on Louis, just to make Harry scowl and say some variation of, “He sounds like a stalker. You should block him.” 

Shortly before his shift ended, Lou showed up with Lux in tow. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Louis said, taking Lux off her. “Hey, Lou, y’okay?” 

“Yeah, good,” she said. “What are you boys up to tonight?” 

“Oh, let me guess,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“Well, if you’ve not got anything on,” she said. “I’ll give you next Saturday.” 

“What am I missing?” Louis said, looking between them. 

“That’s Lou’s way of asking me to babysit,” Harry said. “I’ll get next Saturday off with pay.” 

“Do it,” Louis said. “We’ve got the Teen Awards.” 

“Heyyyy,” Harry said. “That’s right. I’ve already got next weekend off.” 

“Okay, Saturday after that,” Lou said, laughing at Harry’s indignation. “I forgot, honest.” 

“It’s a deal,” Louis said. “Should we just take her back to our place?” 

“You can go to mine if you like?” Lou said. “We probably won’t get back till late, so you could take the guest room.” 

“You mean my room,” Harry said. “Just because I don’t live with you anymore doesn’t mean that’s not still my room.” 

“Of course, babes,” Lou agreed. “Well, if you want to finish up what you’re doing and go, you can. I'll do close out.” 

“Cool, yeah. Thanks,” Harry said. 

Louis sat Lux on his skateboard and pushed her around the backroom while Harry cleaned up. Then he passed her off to Harry and they took the bus to Lou and Tom’s house. They were both hungry, so Harry went into the kitchen to see what they had while Louis took Lux into the living room to play. 

When delicious smells began to fill the air, Louis led Lux to the kitchen and found Harry at the stove, wearing an apron and tending to a pan of stir-fry. 

“Smells good,” Louis said. 

Harry smiled at him over his shoulder. “Thanks, babe. Be ready in a few minutes.” 

“Should I put her in her high chair?” he said, gesturing to Lux, who was toddling toward the table. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

Louis got her situated and played pat-a-cake with her until Harry served the meal. They took turns attending to Lux so that they could both eat before the food went cold, and as Harry tried to coax her into taking another bite, Louis imagined another version of the scene before him. A different kitchen, a different little girl or boy; one that was theirs. 

“You’re suspiciously quiet,” Harry noted. “What are you thinking about?” 

Louis ducked his head, laughing at himself, and peeked up at Harry from behind his fringe. “Our future.” 

Harry hadn’t been expecting that, if the way a blush crept up his neck was any indication. “Oh.” 

“Marry me someday,” Louis said, just to tease him. 

Harry nodded jerkily, watching with exaggerated focus as Lux dipped her spoon into her applesauce. Still, he said, “I will.” 

* 

Lux was a well-behaved child, and it wasn’t hard to keep her busy. They took her in the back garden and let her run around, sat on her on the living room floor with a pile of Barbies, and put on a Disney movie. They didn’t have any trouble at all until bedtime. 

She took a bath and put on her pajamas easily enough, but when they tried to put her in her crib, she yelled, “Tar!” 

“Lay down, Luxy,” Louis said. 

“Tar!” She gripped the rail of her crib and shook it. 

“Not tonight, Lux,” Harry said. 

“Tar!” she whined, turning to Louis appealingly. 

“What does she want?” Louis said. 

“Tom plays guitar for her to put her to sleep,” Harry said. 

“Aw,” Louis said, petting her soft hair. “Sorry, little babe, we don’t know how. Pity that, because your Uncle Harry would be fifty-seven percent hotter if he played guitar.” 

“Exactly fifty-seven, then?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, it’s very scientific,” Louis told him. 

“I mean, I can play a few songs,” Harry said, hastening to add, “I’m just learning, though. I’m shit at it.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Louis said. 

“Tar!” Lux said. 

Harry sighed reluctantly and told her, “You get one song, okay? Then it’s sleepy time.” 

Louis plucked Lux from her crib gleefully and carried her back to the living room. They settled down on the sofa, Lux laid across Louis’ folded legs as Harry sat on the other side with one of Tom’s guitars. 

“I’m honestly awful, so you’re not allowed to judge me,” Harry reiterated. 

“Dance, monkey,” Louis ordered. 

“Okay, Free Fallin’?” Harry said. “I seriously know like five songs, so there’s not many options.” 

“That’s fine,” Louis said. “I love that song.” 

“Okay.” Harry took a deep breath and braced himself. 

“Relax,” Louis told him. “I’m already impressed.” 

“Whatever,” Harry mumbled, but the tense set of his shoulders slackened. 

He started shakily, but by the middle of the song, he found his stride, and he looked at Louis expectantly when he finished. 

“Brilliant,” Louis praised, and Harry smiled. 

He strummed the strings and squinted thoughtfully. “What else do you wanna hear?” 

“Anything,” Louis said. 

“Want to hear the song I play when you make me sad?” Harry asked, without a hint of irony. 

“Oh, yeah, thanks, that sounds brilliant. Definitely won’t make me feel like a huge piece of shit,” Louis said sarcastically. "What is it, like, Celine Dion?” 

“Yeah, it’s Celine Dion. How’d you guess?” Harry retorted. 

“Okay, who?” Louis said. 

“The Queers,” said Harry. 

“How fitting,” Louis said. 

Harry laughed. “Do you want to hear it or not?” 

“What’s it called?” he asked. 

Harry repositioned the guitar slightly, plucking a few notes. “From Your Boy.” 

“Okay,” Louis said, preparing himself for the worst. 

The song was sweet rather than angsty; the lyrics hopeful. “ _I'm hanging 'round hoping hard that you wanna be with me always and always. It's my way of saying, 'Won't you stick around me for the rest of your life?'_ ” Harry had a genuinely good voice, deep and soulful. He closed his eyes as he sang the refrain. “ _I always think of you..._ ” 

“That was great,” Louis said, when it ended. 

“Well, I’ve played it a lot,” Harry said. 

Louis grimaced. “Have I been that bad?” 

“Of course not,” Harry said. “It’s not your fault. You were dealing with stuff, too. Anyway, they say nothing worth having comes easy.” 

“No need to insult me!” Louis balked, and when Harry looked at him questioningly, he said, “I come very easy when I’m with you.” 

Harry laughed hard at that, like Louis knew he would. “Play me another one.” 

Harry hesitated. “I know one, but…” 

“Play it,” Louis demanded. 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “You’ll make fun of me.” 

“I’m sure I will,” Louis said. “But think how much I’ll enjoy myself doing it.” 

Harry whined, but eventually gave in to Louis chanting, “Do it! Do it!” 

The opening verses were familiar, but Louis couldn't place it until he got to the chorus. “ _The last time I freaked out; I just kept looking down. I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I’m thinkin’ ’bout. Felt like I couldn’t breathe; you asked what’s wrong with me—_ ” He nearly choked on his own tongue when Harry sang, “ _My best friend Luxy said ‘Oh, he’s just being Harry’!_ ” 

He was gasping for air by the time the end of the song, half-dead from trying to silently laugh so as to not disturb Lux. “You are actually the biggest geek I’ve ever known.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said primly. 

“So, is that all you know?” Louis said. 

“Um… well, I know one more,” Harry hedged. “But I don’t want to tell you yet. It’s a surprise.” 

“For me?” Louis asked. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I wanted to play it for you once I’ve got it perfect.” 

Louis was touched, but he was also impatient. “How long will that be?” 

“I’ve mostly got it,” Harry said. “I just want to practice with Tom maybe one more time.” 

“I don’t care if it’s perfect,” Louis said. “At least tell me what it is.” 

“It’s that Screeching Weasel song. The one you said reminded you of me,” Harry said. 

“Oh right.” Louis remembered it. “The sweet one.” 

Harry nodded. “When you said it reminded you of me – that was back when I thought you were dating Niall—” 

“Oh god!” Louis laughed. 

“It wasn’t funny at the time,” Harry said. “It makes me sound like a prick, but that was already my song for you, in my head. I remember thinking that I would wait as long as it took until I could tell you so.” 

Louis’ jaw dropped, and he made a noise of mock-offence. “So you were rooting for my glorious romance with Niall to end in tragedy?” 

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Harry said flatly. 

“Harold!” Louis scolded, indicating Lux on his lap. 

“She’s sleeping,” Harry said. Louis looked down and, sure enough, she was. With the utmost care, he eased himself off of the sofa and carried her to her crib, tucking her in and taking the baby monitor with him on his way out. 

“So, what now?” Louis said, as he sprawled out on the sofa again. “Is it impolite to get drunk while you’re babysitting?” 

Harry didn’t even deign to answer. He was still toying with the guitar. “Okay, I think I got it.” 

“The song?” Louis said. “You sure?” 

“Think so,” Harry said. 

“Okay,” Louis said, sitting up straight. 

Harry fingered the strings carefully, but a million mistakes wouldn’t have mattered to Louis. He sang with all the heartrending sincerity that made him so precious to Louis; something to be adored, and protected, and cherished, and kept forever. 

They sat in silence when the song ended. Harry set the guitar aside. 

“Come here,” Louis said, holding out his arms. 

“I messed up a little,” Harry said, moving into his embrace. They fell back on the sofa together. 

“No,” Louis said. “It was perfect.” 

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Harry asked, snuggling close. “Lou would probably frown upon you riding my cock on her sofa, but we could play Spin the Bottle with the Barbies.” 

“I just want to lay here,” Louis said. 

“You tired?” Harry said. 

“No,” Louis said. He cleared his throat, and Harry looked down at him curiously. 

“I’m—” he faltered, and tried again. “When I met you at six years old, I couldn’t believe my luck. You were my favourite person in the world. The best part of my day was seeing you. I met you again at twenty and I feel the same way. All I've ever wanted was to spend my time with you.” 

“The song worked!” Harry whispered triumphantly, and they laughed. 

“I mean it,” Louis said. 

Harry kissed him, gentle and lingering, and told him, “Louis, I love you so much.” 

All week, a sort of calm had been growing inside of Louis; a sense of peace. The more he surrendered himself to it, the stronger it grew. It occurred to him now exactly what he was feeling. It was trust. 

Nothing had changed. He and Harry were still two dumb kids. Forever was still terrifying. That would probably never change. Louis would be eighty years old and still an idiot afraid of fucking it all up. 

It wasn’t about never falling apart; it was about having faith that they could always fit the pieces back together. It was about trusting that they were big enough fools to have the nerve to stay together forever. It was about believing that fate would choose them for an adventure as ridiculous as true love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****DO NOT TRANSLATE this fic. DO NOT REPOST this fic anywhere for any reason. Please report plagiarists. Thank you x**
> 
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> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left comments and supported me while I wrote this. When I posted this fic, I wasn't sure anyone would read it. I didn't know a single person in fandom, so that was a very real possibility. Thank you for every comment, kudo, rec, and message. They were truly appreciated. 
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts, if you'd like to share them. Feel free to ask me anything, whether it be about pre- or post- fic events, what characters were thinking during certain scenes, or anything else you want to know. Please leave questions in a comment here rather than messaging me on tumblr, so I can avoid posting spoilers on tumblr. You don't need to have an AO3 account to leave a comment. thanks x
> 
> Some "extras" (will add more as I go):
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> Words: 
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> Texts between Harry and Louis, set sometime in the future. [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/81612482669/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)
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> more texts, ft. Harry, Louis, and their new kitten [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/81812952039/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)  
> more texts, ft. Harry, Louis, Gigi and Godzilla [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/81894896978/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)  
> more texts, Harry's out of town [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/82017063769/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)  
> more texts, it's April Fools' Day [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/82121673325/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)  
> more texts, Harry and Louis and a pre-Valentine's Day dinner party [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/82921539118/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)
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> by request:
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> texts between Harry and Louis' grandmother Jennifer [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/82321723506/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)  
> texts between Harry and Louis, discussing their future kids [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/82427377067/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)  
> texts between Harry and Louis, an argument [[here]](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/82542511151/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-verse-texts)
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> Music:
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> [Your Name Is Tattooed On My Heart](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/81516665449/songs-from-your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart) by Screeching Weasel (eponymous, ch 3, ch 11)  
> [From Your Boy](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/81516135303/songs-from-your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart) by The Queers (ch 11)  
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> Fan art: 
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> Thank you to Megan for this adorable fan art: [http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/66822160989](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/66822160989/virginallouis-some-of-my-fave-scenes-from-my)
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> Thank you to rachetlarry for this graphics-based rec post: [http://ratchetlarry.tumblr.com/post/39514554376](http://ratchetlarry.tumblr.com/post/39514554376/your-name-is-tattooed-on-my-heart-mcpofife)
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